Vincent's ear began to ache, one morning in July.
He wondered what the reason was and asked his doctor why
it hurt so much that sleep was short and peace could not be found.
The doctor told him what was wrong, but Vince heard not a sound.
He shook his head and raised his hands, not knowing what to do.
When the doctor wrote down what he'd said, his consternation grew,
for the doctor - like all of his trade - could not write legibly,
so Vincent went on home in pain and wept extensively.
And this is why he took his knife and calmly sliced his ear;
the pain he felt while doing this was doused by jars of beer.
Instead of being sad, insane, with delusions he was fighting,
poor Vincent had an aching ear and a doctor with bad writing.