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
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