Poem by Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce

Safety-Clutch

 Once I seen a human ruin
   In a elevator-well.
 And his members was bestrewin'
   All the place where he had fell.

 And I says, apostrophisin'
   That uncommon woful wreck:
 "Your position's so surprisin'
   That I tremble for your neck!"

 Then that ruin, smilin' sadly
   And impressive, up and spoke:
 "Well, I wouldn't tremble badly,
   For it's been a fortnight broke."

 Then, for further comprehension
   Of his attitude, he begs
 I will focus my attention
   On his various arms and legs—

 How they all are contumacious;
   Where they each, respective, lie;
 How one trotter proves ungracious,
   T' other one an alibi.

 These particulars is mentioned
   For to show his dismal state,
 Which I wasn't first intentioned
   To specifical relate.

 None is worser to be dreaded
   That I ever have heard tell
 Than the gent's who there was spreaded
   In that elevator-well.

 Now this tale is allegoric—
   It is figurative all,
 For the well is metaphoric
   And the feller didn't fall.

 I opine it isn't moral
   For a writer-man to cheat,
 And despise to wear a laurel
   As was gotten by deceit.

 For 'tis Politics intended
   By the elevator, mind,
 It will boost a person splendid
   If his talent is the kind.

 Col. Bryan had the talent
   (For the busted man is him)
 And it shot him up right gallant
   Till his head began to swim.

 Then the rope it broke above him
   And he painful came to earth
 Where there's nobody to love him
   For his detrimented worth.

 Though he's living' none would know him,
   Or at leastwise not as such.
 Moral of this woful poem:
   Frequent oil your safety-clutch.Porfer Poog.

1. Matter for Gratitude
2. The Valley of Dry Bones
3. Polyphemus
4. An Inscription
5. Convalescent

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