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Postscript
To My Dear Fellow Men
Manuscripts of endless weight
Some quite good, some second rate
The mail does bring me every day
Without a rest or long delay.
I am not a wicked man
And want to help all I can
Everyone whom cruel fate
Has selected to create.
Science and philosophy
And riddles of psychology;
Cure-alls for humanity
And, of course, much poetry.
Each one thinks that only he
Had his parcel sent to me
And his rage turns to a tirade
If my answer is delayed.
O, my dear man, do admit
That here is a close limit
To the bit of intellect
Which is up there in the head.
To those who choose to persevere
Let me whisper in their ear:
Oh Holy Florian, great Saint!
Please spare my house, let others faint!
This little prayer I recite
With deep devotion every night.
––Albert Einstein, 1953