The yellow mask I wear on buses and trains, because I do not trust the uproar,
And behind it, a master of tempests.
The childish trick I have of hiding important things.
In the woods I always stand alone
Like an orphan without mercy.
Because night has no name I spend the days in conjecture.
The summer wind knows about grief.
Gauss, the great mathematician, was a tremendous poet.
Planet of the Blind 