The Pandean is no Pipe
“Rat-a-tat!” go the rattle-y rivets
Only a block from this Broadway abode.
Though I were right as a legion of trivets,
How could I pencil a perishless ode?
Only a block from this Broadway abode.
Though I were right as a legion of trivets,
How could I pencil a perishless ode?
“Ting-a-ling-ling!” goes the ring telephonic:
Haste I to answer it, out in the hall,
“Well?” I intone. Says the lady, laconic,
“Hang your receiver up. I didn’t call.”
Haste I to answer it, out in the hall,
“Well?” I intone. Says the lady, laconic,
“Hang your receiver up. I didn’t call.”
Enters a boy who demandeth exchanges;
Cometh a critic to borrow a match.
Had I the poise of the Appenine ranges,
Still inspiration would fail to attach.
Cometh a critic to borrow a match.
Had I the poise of the Appenine ranges,
Still inspiration would fail to attach.
Day after day do I tease the afflatus,
Wooing a muse that is too far aloft,
And when I leave, a forlorn literatus,
Office-mates say, “Gee, that guy’s got it soft.”
Wooing a muse that is too far aloft,
And when I leave, a forlorn literatus,
Office-mates say, “Gee, that guy’s got it soft.”