Poetry
Misunderstood : a Fable
I WROTE a little rime one day
To help mean people on Life's way ; I sang in lyric inspiration Of sacrifices for the Nation.
But, thriftless toil, I lost the verses, And sought them with impassioned curses ; They had been stolen by a mouse Who'd used the sheet to line his house.
And strange result of art and craft— That mouse became supremely daft ; His feeble head my lines so fired That he grew solemnly inspired. And when the household slept at ease And there was none to guard the cheese He mounted on my Sunday hat And preached plain duty to'ards the cat, " How lovely is self-sacrifice ! " He squeaked to all his brother mice.
And soon (my tale is nearly ended) The cat grew shamefully distended. The watch-dog barked his indignation At so much squandered inspiration.
HERBERT E PALNIER.
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