His eyes were perfect, but like a blind star
He walked through the long night when were asleep
The skilled gods of time, and the guards who keep
Vigil on swift things, in the lands that are
Priceless and precious, stretching wide and far;
In those realms of gold he saw a huge heap
Of papers and, rather with a snarly leap,
Took hold of them, wonders that had no scar.

One by one all the missed commas were found
And many a word looked quite dubious;
The poet had lost his sense, in a voice bold
He declared to the sleepy world. What ground…?
But the sudden hand of death, furious,
Took away his soul ere it could be sold.

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