Time Travel
Well, Otto had an attitude -- the world owed him a living,
His every act was take, take, take. He was so un for giving.
He made his phone calls all collect, his postage went out due,
And if you dropped a hat on him, you knew that he would sue.
All in his life was backward. Contention made him thrive.
But all who knew him wondered why he even was alive.
His constant usurpations, his grabbing, stingy ways,
One wondered how he dealt with such a gift of endless days.
The answer was, he felt it wrong that time be wasted so.
Much better that control was used, to interrupt the flow.
And so he made a time machine, to garner all he could,
He got the theory right enough; designing, not so good.
He ended going sideways, through shifting constant days,
Of sun just peeking up above a distant morning haze,
And people frozen in their tracks, but changing even so,
Before long he had lost his way, and knew not where to go.
Alas, he'd traveled much too far, to find his way again,
He journeyed in a circle then, of ever-widening spin,
The classic searching pattern, of fable and of rhyme,
But he remains a lost soul yet. No one would give him time.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . August 4, 2007
Oh, thank goodness—the universe is righted again—you’re all back together.
G’night and sweet dreams, y’all!