A Tale Of The Pin

An editor lay in bed one night

     In the throes of a troubled sleep;

A storm broke loose o’er the trembling land

     And the face of the mighty deep.

He thought he was lashed to an oaken plank,

     While down from the blood-red sky

There came a pin fully ten feet long

     With “death” in its one great eye.

Straight, straight for his breast the thing came down

     To smite him his death-like blow;

While fire flashed off from its cruel barbs

     And tortured him with its glow.

He shrank and shriveled and moaned with pain,

     As the pin ran him through and through;

And ere he was gone to the Kingdom come,

     A writer popped into view.

He was dressed as the devil, with flaming fork,

     And his face was a sight to see;

He gazed on the pain of the editor

     While his eyes they danced in glee.

“You have punctured for years my manuscripts!”

     He cried with a frenzied yell;

“And it’s tit for tat” And the pin went deep

     And the editor went – and died.

Oct. 19, ‘06