How strange a thing to contemplate,
And yet a subject for debate,
And childish poetry and rhyme,
Since mud only becomes less mud
When water doth evaporate:
When mud is dry, of mud there’s none.
Yet one could argue (as one should,
Since arguing does people good)
Or make a gambit or a start,
By saying that the water’s gone,
but that the water’s not the mud,
Since no one ever understood
The nuisance of the dirt and grime
To be the clear, liquid part.