A Best Seller

He wrote and wrote upon a novel,

     Soaked himself in bookish lore,

Stopped to eat a little sandwich,

     Then he wrote and wrote some more.

Thought ‘twould be a one “best seller”

     Bring him wealth and fame galore.

How he worked and how he polished

     Getting everything down pat;

By a house of reputation

     It was brought out with “éclat”.

But the public, O, the public!

     So the novel fell down flat.

In an attic sat the author,

     Gone his fleeting novel joys;

Now employed with the inventing

     Of crude toys for girls and boys;

Toys to fly and climb and balance

     Toys to burst and make a noise.

Ah! At last he reached the summit

     Of the rich inventor’s goal;

Made an image out of metal

     That would climb a frozen pole.

‘Twas the season’s “one best seller”,

     Now he has a million roll.

Dec. 9, ‘09