There lived in ancient Scribbletown a wise old writer-man, <br />Whose name was Homer Cicero Demosthenes McCann. <br />He'd written treatises and themes till, 'For a change,' he said, <br />'I think I'll write a children's book before I go to bed.' <br /> <br />He pulled down all his musty tomes in Latin and in Greek; <br />Consulted cyclopaedias and manuscripts antique, <br />Essays in Anthropology, studies in counterpoise-- <br />'For these,' he said, 'are useful lore for little girls and boys.' <br /> <br />He scribbled hard, and scribbled fast, he burned the midnight oil, <br />And when he reached 'The End' he felt rewarded for his toil; <br />He said, 'This charming Children's Book is greatly to my credit.' <br />And now he's sorely puzzled that no child has ever read it.<br /><br />Carolyn Wells<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/puzzled-13/
