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Earl Sollenberger 105 The Legend of Simon Simplefuss (Without Benefit of Sound) I hope it is no crime To laugh at all things. For I wish to know What, after all, are all things—but a show? —Lord Byron Better by far this wretch were dead Who rashly from his people fled; What does his freedom now avail? He merely moved to deeper Hell. He thought he would ambition try, But soon he finds desires too high Will bring his beanstalk down with cramps. All jest aside, how far he stamps And wide, falls short of being long— Falls short, I mean, of righting wrong. On every hand he is denied, And it is he for whom Christ cried; But cries of Christ be far away, And preachers use their time to pray. He goes alone, and church and state Cannot be bothered by his fate, Just so he keeps right side of them. One person knows he is a gem The dark, unfathomed bums surmount, But that’s himself, and does not count. He may make friends, but cannot hold A fille de joie, except by gold. Past dancing halls he wends his way; The whispering wind fears he will stay, But being wise, he pushes on The way his fellow Cains have gone. Earl Sollenberger 106 He dare not join the corner group For they will make of him a dupe. The radio and talkie reel Are quite above this man’s appeal. A dog may let him scratch its neck Until he speaks! his voice’s wreck Would even to a cat convey The sense to keep out of his way. His joys are limited to books And marigolds and babless brooks; Or he may share his company In silent séance with the sea. He even may eke out some fun In gazing at the clouds and sun; But no man of the normal race Can jest with this guy face to face. If wandering from the neighborhood, He seeks the solace of the wood, No ravished virgin’s cries he’ll heed, But if he senses madam’s need And sends the tactless villain flying, Her frenzied words will want replying, At which she’ll think her life at stake And yell for succor to the rake. He cannot win; that fact is settled, And reader, if you’re somewhat nettled As to the nature of this being, Let me explain, that you on seeing This Terror, won’t be put to fleeing. He’s neither Eskimo nor Zulu, Nor gorilla—I wouldn’t fool you. This creature is an ancient freak— He’s deaf, and disinclined to speak! ...

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