A Merry-Go-Round

G. Whillikins was a writer bold
Who never lost a chance;
While good at many sorts of work,
His best hold was Romance.
He wrote a lively, stirring thing,
A tale of love and youth,
With a dashing maid and a clashing blade,
But never a word of truth.

G. Whillikins then headed home
To make another start.
He studied up psychology;
He took men's souls apart;
He learned the naïve, the morbid,
The crazy, quaint, and queer,
And wrote a book without a plot.
The time elapsed - one year.

Once more G. Whillikins set out
With economic lore
He soaked his very being full -
It oozed from every pore.
He proved all poverty a crime,
And chose a 'workingman'
For hero, one who ran a strike
Upon a novel plan.

G.Whillikins did some thinking,
And thought this time he'd wait
Until the wheel had made its turn,
Instead of chasing Fate.
"I'll bide my time," said Whillikins,
"Until Romance comes round,"
But when the cycle reached Romance,
It found him underground.
                       -  Tudor Jenks