Outdone, the town surrendered Hines to plain
Insanity, recalling every wild
Excess of his invention, and the vein
Of stubborn folly in the barn he built
That never stalled a beast but stood pristine,
As though the price of cows and hay were sin.
Tending his garden, living in that barn,
I thrived on his largesse, but never dared
Dismiss him from my mind when, turn by turn,
I climbed the stairs to bed, being prepared
By Hines’s raillery to find each black
Recess the ambush of a maniac.
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