I tried to tie, I said, I said,
some rocks to billowed clouds.
In this I was a fool, a chump!
For rocks, as is both well allowed
and widely wist,
pass always through these vapor stumps,
and gathered mists,
and won't be bound with lumps.
So all I’ve really done is stone the earth
with quarried things that loud ker-thump,
become the cause of people being
sore bereaved with grievous bumps.
Oh no! Look out! Please mind your head!
And look out poems!
Gazelles upon you tread.