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THE COG THERE ONCE WAS A DAY WHEN AN EVERYDAY COG GOT TIRED OF TURNING IN PERPETUAL SLOG. HIS WHIRLING AND TWIRLING KEPT HIS MIND IN A SPIN THUS PUZZLED HE PONDERED WHERE TO START, WHERE TO END? HE ASK OF HIS NEIGHBOR (IN HIS ROUND-ABOUT-MIEN) "IS THIS CEASELESS CYCLING WHY WHEELS WERE MACHINED?" WAS ANSWERED, "I'VE GOT TO ROLL, I'VE NO TIME, SO TO SPEAK! BETTER ORDER SOME OIL! YOU'RE STARTING TO SQUEAK!" AROUND AND ABOUT THEN (OUR POOR COG DESPAIRING) HE RIDDLED HIS REASON, AND QUESTIONED HIS BEARINGS. BUT THEY COULDN'T TELL HIM, BEING PRESSED TO EXERTION. (OUR COG WASN'T SURE THAT IT WASN'T COERCION!) HE CALLED FOR A MEETING, A GATHERING OF GEARS, WHERE HE THUNDERED AND ROARED (HAVING WOUND ROUND FOR YEARS). WHEN, OVER AND UNDER, EVERY SPROCKET AND CAM WENT SUDDENLY SILENT AS IF THEY'D BEEN JAMMED! THEN A BIG HAIRY HAND GAVE A TWIST OF A WRENCH, NOW OUR HERO, THE COG, IS RESTING UP ON A BENCH. Robert Anderson (aka Songster)
