Shapes of Clay

When Liberverm resigned the chair

Of This or That in college, where

For two decades he'd gorged his brain

With more than it could well contain,

In order to relieve the stress

He took to writing for the press.

Then Pondronummus said, "I'll help

This mine of talent to devel'p;"

And straightway bought with coin and credit

The Thundergust for him to edit.

The great man seized the pen and ink

And wrote so hard he couldn't think;

Ideas grew beneath his fist

And flew like falcons from his wrist.

His pen shot sparks all kinds of ways

Till all the rivers were ablaze,

And where the coruscations fell

Men uttered words I dare not spell.

Eftsoons with corrugated brow,

Wet towels bound about his pow,

Locked legs and failing appetite,

He thought so hard he couldn't write.

His soaring fancies, chickenwise,

Came home to roost and wouldn't rise.

With dimmer light and milder heat

His goose-quill staggered o'er the sheet,

Then dragged, then stopped; the finish came—

He couldn't even write his name.

The Thundergust in three short weeks

Had risen, roared, and split its cheeks.

Said Pondronummus, "How unjust!

The storm I raised has laid my dust!"

When, Moneybagger, you have aught

Invested in a vein of thought,

Be sure you've purchased not, instead,

That salted claim, a bookworm's head.