By Alan J. Blaustein
Some poor fool decided so damn long ago,
To make little pictures of words he would know.
He filled up with wine till he could not get tighter,
Then sat himself down to be first of the writers
From numbers and lists it could only get worse,
With some other fools making markings in verse,
Or stories of conquest, battles and gods,
And all were the same, being equally odd.
You sit there and scribble the whole damned night,
And bang on your head till you get the thing right,
Then drink it all off till you don’t know what year you’re in,
And laugh through your glass at that poor fool Sumerian!