Ruined Poem

Terence tries to think of a good second line for his poem about Greedy.

It's not his fault that Greedy has died. 

How's it going? asks Arthur.

I've only got 'Greedy has died', says Terence.

That's a good start, says Nerida.

It wasn't my fault, says Terence.

It kind of was, says Nerida. You stuffed her in with the pencils and they must have been sharp.

They weren't sharp, says Terence. They were broken.

So put that in the poem, says Nerida. 

Okay, says Terence. Greedy has died, it was her fault, she broke the pencils.

That's blunt, says Arthur. 

Nerida laughs. 

Terence doesn't know why.

It would be good to say something nice about Greedy, says Nerida.

She wanted to help me catch frogs, says Terence.

We're not CATCHING them, are we? says Nerida. I though we were counting.

But she did want to, says Terence.

She couldn't have caught any, says Nerida.

Put that in, says Arthur.

It's not nice, says Terence.

It's nice for the frogs, says Nerida.

But not Greedy, says Terence. 

I didn't know her, says Nerida.

She took part in Candide, says Arthur. She played the plump hand. And she learned to speak English.

Wow! says Nerida. 

She looks at the flaccid Greedy with respect.

Maybe we could fix her, with plasters, and blow her up again. She sounds like an asset.

Terence is confounded.

That would ruin his poem.