The Poet and the Editor

"My dear sir," said the editor to the man who had come to inquire about his poem, "I regret to inform you that, due to an unfortunate incident in this office, the majority of your manuscript is illegible. A bottle of ink was accidentally spilled on it, blotting out all but the first line—specifically, 'The autumn leaves were falling, falling.'

"Unluckily, since I have not read the poem in its entirety, I am unable to provide the incidents that followed. If the news is not stale and hasn't already appeared in other publications, perhaps you could kindly recount what occurred while I take notes."

"The autumn leaves were falling, falling," the poet began.

"Go on," urged the editor.

"What!" exclaimed the poet in disbelief. "Do you expect me to reproduce the entire poem from memory?"

"Only the essence of it—just the key points. We will add whatever is necessary in terms of elaboration and embellishment. It will only take a moment."

"The autumn leaves were falling, falling—" the poet started again.

"Now, then," prompted the editor.

At that moment, there was a sound of slow movement as the poet began to rise and leave. The chronicler of current events sat motionless, pen suspended in mid-air, and when the movement came to an end, Poesy was represented in that place by nothing more than a warm spot on the wooden chair.