Prudence claimed his magic pen

Could save the human ‘kind’

By writing when

You had a thought a twirled it in twine

 

Ivory letters to be ebonied with truth

For the sweetest syllables to woo and forsooth

But no one sold you at the seal

The pen, its magic; you made no deal

 

As now I string my papers in a stack

I sure wish I could have my money back