A jellyfish swam in a tropical sea,
And he said, “This world it consists of me:
There’s nothing above and nothing below
That a jellyfish ever can possibly know
(Since we’ve got no sight, or hearing, or smell),
Beyond what our single sense can tell.
Now, all that I learn from the sense of touch
Is the fact of my feelings, viewed as such.
But to think they have any external cause
Is an inference clean against logical laws.
Again, to suppose, as I’ve hitherto done,
There are other jellyfish under the sun,
Is a pure assumption that can’t be backed
By a jot of proof or a single fact.
In short, like Hume, I very much doubt
If there’s anything else at all without.
So I come at last to the plain conclusion,
When the subject is fairly set free from confusion,
That the universe simply centres in me,
And if I were not, then nothing would be.”
That minute, a shark who was strolling by,
Just gulped him down, in the twink of an eye;
And he died, with a few convulsive twists.
But, somehow, the universe still exists.
Grant Allen.