the Wopse. As proudly (yet with perfect taste)
It turns its back upon its waist,
And seeks, though life must all begin new,
"Business as usual" to continue!
A Philosopher's Remorse. The Man of Science felt his heart
Prick him with self-accusing smart,
To see that ineffectual torso
Go fluttering about the floor so;
The Uses of a Scientific A wasp for flight is too lopsided.
Education. So, with remorsefulness acute,
Reparation. He rigged it up a substitute;
Providing it a new posterior,
At least as good--if not superior.
His Process. He cut it out a tail of card,
And stuck it on with ox-gall, hard.
(This he prefers to vulgar glue)
And made that Wopse as good as new!
Forgiveness. Until the grateful insect soared
Away, with self-respect restored
To find that mutilated part of his
Had been so well replaced by artifice.
Further proceedings of The Scientist, again complacent,
the Philosopher. To pen and ink and paper hastened,
And, in a letter to the _Field_,
Told how the Wasp, though halved, was healed,
And how, despite a treatment rigorous,
It left consoled--and even vigorous!
Moral. The Moral--here this poem stops--is
_'Tis ne'er too late for mending Wopses!_