not an autobiographical parody
Because I could not wire a Plug,
It wired itself to me,
The carriage held but just ourselves,
And Electricity.
We passed the school, where children strove
To gain some erudition,
Ah! what a shame I did not learn
To be an electrician.
For who would think a wire called "live"
The life of humans halts?
My wiring style contains, I fear,
Two hundred forty faults.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet
We drive for all we're worth;
The eternal heavens seem so live;
So neutral seemed the earth.
(I think Death demonstrates that the common metre can make even the best metaphor sound trite.)
It wired itself to me,
The carriage held but just ourselves,
And Electricity.
We passed the school, where children strove
To gain some erudition,
Ah! what a shame I did not learn
To be an electrician.
For who would think a wire called "live"
The life of humans halts?
My wiring style contains, I fear,
Two hundred forty faults.
Since then 'tis centuries, and yet
We drive for all we're worth;
The eternal heavens seem so live;
So neutral seemed the earth.
(I think Death demonstrates that the common metre can make even the best metaphor sound trite.)