by Gregory "Corsair" Klyve
I met a worker from the Harwell labs
Who said, ‘A genius of wond’rous brain
Works on the "Help Desk". Wasted on the plebs
He puzzles quantum theory, half–insane;
Then writes Byronic verse and, like kebabs,
He skewers all his friends, right wittily.
A novel then essay’d he, when half–pissed,
To tell the truth ’bout Greek Mythology,
And on the frontispiece these words appear:
"My name is Oakleymandias, Byronist.
Look on my book, ye feeble, and declare
My brilliance!"’ Alas, for all his balls,
Nothing in print appear’d, and in his lair
Rejection slips paper’d all the walls.