Eccentri-city

Behind a gate and four locked doors

Is a chest of thoughts and tales untold,

Of a laughing skunk and a rare winged elk

And a silver-tongued mole in the backyard dreck.

But the tomes are shut and bound by chains

The plans are coded and secured with pains,

For the man who talks of the three-tailed frog

Finds his head stuck high on a rough-edged log.

Or at the least is held in d’right scorn

By the teaming simple ordinary town;

Who mock the awkward lad in glasses

And gape at the gauche one who spilled his.

Until one eve they catch a peek

Of a bitten apple or a bird that’ll tweet.

Then they sing praises and applaud the gift

And claim, "la that boy! He did always have it."

For all that a few boxes are opened

And skies lifted for one more trend,

There's little room for thoughts and plots

And none too much for the poor thinking sods.