| Chuang Tzu dreamt one evening that he was a butterfly. Never |
| did he imagine he might |
| really be anything else |
| so all day he contentedly flitted from flower to flower. |
| But in the evening he woke |
| and was astonished to find |
| that he was Tzu, old Tzu who'd been sleeping and pleasantly dreaming. |
| Yet it was hard to be sure |
| whether he really was Tzu |
| and had been dreaming that he was a butterfly only, or whether |
| dreaming he only was Tzu. |