There once was a little man. He lived and
Then he died, blood and the contents of his skull
Mixed with the others’. The end. Then how full
Were the streets with candles, hearts of chalk, grand
Monuments all evanescently lit
With the colours of what happened to be
His country’s flag. Oh they were cowardly
Those wicked Brusselaars who dared commit
Their bodies to that centrifugal force
That must above all be contained, we hear.
And oh yes, it was such an awful shock,
But we mustn’t let them win, no, never pause
And reconsider: good little people share
And answer the door to every knock.