Of gossip, lurid news, his knowledge’s vast, but query him of crimes of note? Blank stare. He’s a philosophy enthusiast espousing theories from his fireside chair.
Of stars, he knows too much. Of politics, it’s worse. Of plants, he’s wise on pruning shears, but poisoner’s preferred herbs, leaves, and sticks? He lacks. On soils, as well, in deep arrears!
Of chemistry, his knowledge’s thin but sound, yet, as with any doctor worth the name, his knowledge of body function, form’s profound. Of games of chance, sport, music, law, the same.
In one field, though, he’s opposite of nil: detective-care, his matchless, depthless skill.
John Watson--his depths (a list poem)
but query him of crimes of note? Blank stare.
He’s a philosophy enthusiast
espousing theories from his fireside chair.
Of stars, he knows too much. Of politics,
it’s worse. Of plants, he’s wise on pruning shears,
but poisoner’s preferred herbs, leaves, and sticks?
He lacks. On soils, as well, in deep arrears!
Of chemistry, his knowledge’s thin but sound,
yet, as with any doctor worth the name,
his knowledge of body function, form’s profound.
Of games of chance, sport, music, law, the same.
In one field, though, he’s opposite of nil:
detective-care, his matchless, depthless skill.