I saw Schopenhauer on the shore
kneeling down in the frothy brine,
grunting and groaning at a chore
in the shallows along the shoreline.

I ventured closer and heard him gloat,
though his face was twisted and wroth
as he clutched a man by the throat—
a statue of Buddha in the froth.

Arthur sneered into the Buddha’s face
and proclaimed, “Mein Lehrer ist tot!”
He then walked away from that place
while the wood idol began to rot.