Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.
The Man Who Could Write
B
Is a dismal failure—is a Might-have-been.
In a luckless moment he discovered men
Rise to high position through a ready pen.
With the selfsame weapon, can attain as high.”
Only he did not possess when he made the trial,
Wicked wit of C-lv-n, irony of L—l.
Something more than ordinary journalistic prose.]
Till an Indian paper found that he could write:
Never young Civilian’s prospects were so dark,
When the wretched Blitzen wrote to make his mark.
In that Indian paper—made his seniors squirm,
Quoted office scandals, wrote the tactless truth—
Was there ever known a more misguided youth?
Boanerges Blitzen felt that this was Fame;
When the men he wrote of shook their heads and swore,
Boanerges Blitzen only wrote the more:
Till he found promotion didn’t come to him;
Till he found that reprimands weekly were his lot,
And his many Districts curiously hot.
Boanerges Blitzen didn’t care a pin:
Then it seemed to dawn on him something wasn’t right—
Boanerges Blitzen put it down to “spite”;
Watched the Local Government yearly pass him by;
Wondered where the hitch was; called it most unfair.
That was seven years ago—and he still is there!