Safety-Clutch

Once I seen a human ruin In a elevator-well. And his members was bestrewin' All the place where he had fell. And I says, apostrophisin' That uncommon woeful wreck: "Your position's so surprisin' That I tremble for your neck!" Then that ruin, smilin' sadly And impressive, up and spoke: "Well, I wouldn't tremble badly, For it's been a fortnight broke." Then, for further comprehension Of his attitude, he begs I will focus my attention On his various arms and legs How they all are contumacious; Where they each, respective, lie; How one trotter proves ungracious, T' other one an alibi. These particulars is mentioned For to show his dismal state, Which I wasn't first intentioned To specifical relate. None is worser to be dreaded That I ever have heard tell Than the gent's who there was spreaded In that elevator-well. Now this tale is allegoric It is figurative all, For the well is metaphoric And the feller didn't fall. I opine it isn't moral For a writer-man to cheat, And despise to wear a laurel As was gotten by deceit. For 'tis Politics intended By the elevator, mind, It will boost a person splendid If his talent is the kind. Col. Bryan had the talent (For the busted man is him) And it shot him up right gallant Till his head began to swim. Then the rope it broke above him And he painful came to earth Where there's nobody to love him For his detrimented worth. Though he's living' none would know him, Or at leastwise not as such. Moral of this woeful poem: Frequent oil your safety-clutch.