Mollie and the Unwiseman

by John Kendrick Bangs

"Wasn't it!" sighed the Unwiseman. "It was such a beautifully long poem—and what's more, it isn't easy work. It's almost as hard as shoveling snow, only, of course, you get better pay for it."

"You can rewrite it, can't you?" asked Mollie, gazing sadly at the havoc Gyp had wrought in the Unwiseman's work.

"I am afraid not," said the Unwiseman. "My disappointment has driven it quite out of my head. I can only remember the title."

"What did you call it?" asked Mollie.

"A Poem, by Me."

"It was a simple little title," replied the Unwiseman. "It was called 'A Poem, by Me.'"

"And what was it about?" asked Mollie.

"About six hundred verses," said the Unwiseman; "and not one of 'em has escaped that dog. Those that he hasn't spoiled with his paws he has wagged his tail on, and he chose the best one of the lot to lie on his back and wiggle on. It's very discouraging."