There is a parish confessor, <br />(An absent-minded professor) <br />Who sits all day on his cold flat <br />Butt, reading enormously fat <br />Books, and I swear he never looks <br />Outside, but dwells in household nooks <br />With scraps and tiny chicken bones… <br />At night, he makes such dreadful moans <br />The DEAD arise and volunteer <br />To sing him lullabies for fear <br />Of waking Lucifer himself! <br />(Beside his Bible on a shelf, <br />A pretty picture book complete <br />With pretty girls all nice and neat) <br />“This professor cannot sleep <br />Because he is not counting sheep! ! ! ” <br />True, spirits squabble, but they take <br />Each volume, burn it, and then rake <br />Away the ashes, one by one, <br />Because THAT is how it is done.<br /><br />Jacob Coleman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-absent-minded-professor/
