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A man sat on a rock and sought
    Refreshment from his thumb;
A dinotherium wandered by
    And scared him some.

His name was Smith. The kind of rock
    He sat upon was shale.
One feature quite distinguished him--
    He had a tail.

The danger past, he fell into
    A revery austere;
While with his tail he whisked a fly
    From off his ear.

"Mankind deteriorates," he said,
    "Grows weak and incomplete;
And each new generation seems
    Yet more effete.

"Nature abhors imperfect work,
    And on it lays her ban;
And all creation must despise
    A tailless man.

"But fashion's dictates rule supreme,
    Ignoring common sense;
And fashion says, to dock your tail
    Is just immense.

"And children now come in the world
    With half a tail or less;
Too stumpy to convey a thought,
    And meaningless.

"It kills expression. How can one
    Set forth, in words that drag,
The best emotions of the soul,
    Without a wag?"

Sadly he mused upon the world,
    Its follies and its woes;
Then wiped the moisture from his eyes,
    And blew his nose.

But clothed in earrings, Mrs. Smith
    Came wandering down the dale;
And, smiling, Mr. Smith arose,
    And wagged his tail.

                 David Law Proudfit.

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