Enigma

It's but the twist of nature's irony
Which casts men's molds
In vari-colored sizes,
In all the shapes and forms
And peculiarities
One surmises.

Me thinks, at times, I meet a man
Whose nature seems to me
So well defined,
But upon closer scrutiny,
His very being
Seems a different kind.

Men are like icebergs,
A fraction on the top
Is visible and clear,
But underneath the waterline
There is so much
Which to the naked eye
Does not appear.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2007 Alfred Charasz