A Hacker in Africa

 

On the savannah in Africa, there sat quietly one day

A brave e-book novelist a typing away.

He sat by a brook ‘neath a low Bilbao tree

And the dew on the grass cooled him off, don’t you see.

 

And the writer glanced once when a man with a book

Came and sat down nearby him ‘neath the tree by the brook.

The writer typed and he typed and he swatted at flies

He was not one bit swayed by danger lurking nearby.

 

For a lion was crouching, staring straight at his quarry

At this writer who wrote without one single worry.

Yet the reader opened his tome and perused it with pleasure

Unaware that the lion had spied a new treasure.

 

Up sprang the lion with tooth, fang and claw

And he gobbled up the reader like a brand-new buzz saw.

Barely a morsel was left of him as Rex licked his chops

And he but glanced at the writer and started away in a trot.

 

See, the writer knew well he’d been safe all along

For he knew the old adage like a well-written song

So he typed as he sat in the grass still quite damp

He knew that all lions where ever they tramp

 

That readers digest and all writers cramp.