Some things never change.... I had a friend, upon a time, and a mighty friend was he. His tongue went loop-de-loop-de-loop, and his blade went "Snicker! Snee!". His fingers typed words of delight Dancing like light gone mad, But he disappeared quite late, one night, And the story turned out bad. It seems his door was knocked upon, When most folks were in bed, By two large gents in wrinkled suits And large, and wrinkled, heads. They said he had been singled out, That someone Big was pissed, Berated him as a useless lout, And a goddamned plagiarist. They listed tomes and poems and works He'd borrowed for a while, And touted up and frilled out In inimitable style. The said he'd never paid a dime To those whose works he'd borrow, And all of this was coming back, To visit him with sorrow. They told him he was going away, Into the darkling deeps Where bad men worry through the day, And fret too much to sleep. Where hard men break, and life is hard, And you scramble for what you get, And there's no such thing as e-mail, OR a high-speed Internet. My friend, he blanched, he paled, he flinched, He knew that he'd done wrong, He knew that even then his screen Held a half-baked stolen song. He realized then -- too late, too late -- He should have listened, way back when, To his dear Mom; too late, too late, He was heard from ne'er again. And so I come to this Cafe, To write, and to forget, But something still recalls to me This friend I think on yet. I never learned if he had ever re-crossed that chilling schism That split him from the world he loved, On account of plagiarism. So good folks all, pray heed this call, Think of this man, cast doon, And make your good works all your own, From your own hand, alone. Steal not the works of other men, Or lines of other poets; For if you do, they'll come for you, And everyone will know it. Seamus Sanmerci O'Toole Lilting the Right -- Poems from the Lexington Express Dublin Upp Press, New York, 1937
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