I was looking for a needle
Not in a haystack, no,
But yes, I was looking for one,
That I had dropped,
Behind the closed door,
When I realised I couldn’t quite
Get past that barricade
For it was locked.

I went looking next,
For the key that fit
Into its lock,
One I had used,
Not long ago –
But try as I might
I couldn’t find
The elusive key
That would unlock the door.

“Forget it”, they said,
“It’s just a needle!
It wasn’t made of gold,
Was it?”
And true as it was,
All that they said,
My mind refused,
To bow down to logic.
So I’m still a-looking,
For a key, and a needle,
For that needle,
The one I dropped,
Is now, impossibly lost.