I am a man of rags.
I will not improve.
My thoughts are famished rags
flapping on a paling.

I will not improve
or be educated
out of my stew.
I am for always failing.

My lack of care
gives me small freedom,
and who comes near
also leaves quickly.

I would not join a greater throng
to protest what always must stand.
I would not be shot, or hung
upon a rootless tree.

Let them man a barricade,
red kerchiefs about their necks.
I am lumpen, blowing in a gale,
disorganised by necessity.

(Bernard Eilers, Amsterdam 1908)