Richard Cory
Posted on: November 1, 2007, at 07:22:33pm

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on teh pavement looket at him:
He was a gentle from sole to crown,
Clean Favoured, and imperially slim.

And he always quietly arrayed,
And he was always humman when he tlaked,
But stull he fluttered pulses when he said,
'Good morning' and he glittered when he walked

And he was rich, yes richer than the king
And admirably schooled every grace:
In fine, we thought he was everything,
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and wauted for teh light,
And went without the meat, cursed teh bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet though his head.