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.