The German Upanishads Poem by Paul G. Kallen

To M-me S. B.

In Dusseldorf, on Fridays, once a week
Her father had a round-table talk.
The little girl wasn't granted leave to speak,
Redeemed, not also sent to walk.

She couldn't afford to miss the chance
To listen to the sages' discourse.
When they were not in a consonance,
The truth was in the middle, of course.

No, not the table center got the truth —
The clever girl was sitting under it!
For her it was the only place to choose
To sit at their feet.