By Joseph D. Stirling
“I plan killing thine,
Whilst drinking my wine,
For ‘tis not a crime,
To try killing Time.”
And as he quietly thought to himself,
He set his wine upon the shelf,
But if he knew, what it was he would do,
He’d take his wine from off the shelf.
Now plotting a plot such as he had done,
Some would think it to be an easy one,
But thinking a thought, he knew he should not,
He plotted the plot till the plotting was done.
“But what shalt I do,
If a servant or two,
Come creeping through,
Before he is slew?”
So he thought on this problem that had just come up,
He wondered and pondered as he ate his sup,
What to do, what to do, if they come creeping through,
While he’s in the room and they shouldn’t be up?
He could bring a gun to pull out on the spot,
But the Constable would come if he fired a shot,
So a gun is no good, if creeping they could,
For if the Constable comes he’d be thrown in the stock.
“The venom’s the trick,
That will make him die sick,
When the needle doth prick,
He will be dead quick.”
So he gathered his things and to Time’s house he went,
And snuck quietly in through the air-heating vent,
He dropped down to the floor, and picked the locked door,
And found a sleeping Mr. Time whose energy was spent.
He completed his plan without reason or rhyme,
And even sat down to drink some more wine,
Then in servants crept, to check Time as he slept,
And found a man on the floor who’d been passed out since nine.
“I foiled the plot,
And deserve what I got,
Now my head is too hot,
And my stomach’s a knot.”
He begged to the judge that it wasn’t his blame,
That all that transpired was just a dumb game,
And if he’s thrown in jail, without proper bail,
All that is left would put his name to shame.
But the judge didn’t care to hear him defend,
And said the guillotine was his new best friend,
And so when he died, not one person cried,
Because killing Time is no longer a trend.