(with the usual apologies to Edwin Arlington Robinson)
Yes, Robert Correy was a scientist,
A type we townsmen commonly despise.
But dogs and children loved him (both he kissed),
And atoms sometimes played around his eyes.
And he would always wear his rumpled suit,
And when it "looked like rain," would nod assent,
Though when we all cursed Darwin, he stood mute,
And when we blasphemed Reds, he frowned and went.
And he would shake the preacher's hand at church
And smile to dirty beggars on the street;
We thought him fine for his humane research,
And praised his quiet ardor when we'd meet.
So on we lived, and fought for fame and chrome,
And raised our cloistered daughters when they fell,
And Correy, one calm summer night, went home,
And made a bomb, and blew us all to hell.
Alan C. Elms
Copyright (c) 1958 by Penn State Froth.
Reprinted by permission.