The Author Edgar Allan Poe



Do tell when shall we make common sense men out of the owl-eyed pundits
Out of The Frog-faced stupid old God-born Pundits who lost in a fog-bank
Strut about all along shore there somewhere close by the Down East
Frog Duck Pond munching of pea nuts and pumpkins and buried in big-wigs
Why ask who ever yet saw money made out of a fat old
Jew or downright upright nutmegs out of a pine-knot


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