(an imitation of the original poem by E.A. Robinson)
When Richard Cory walked to and fro,
We townspeople watched his movements in awe.
He was the town’s most favorite beau,
Likened, quite nearly, to a demi-god.
And he possessed a quiet confidence,
And treated all men with their due respect.
No one could maintain his indifference,
When he spoke, causing women great affect.
And rich Sir Cory had want of nothing,
And was well learned in both art and science.
Not one I knew could, him- or herself, bring,
To say, “I dislike him,” in defiance.
So, we returned to our humble dwellings,
And dreamed of living Richard Cory’s life.
And Richard Cory intent on quelling,
Ended all he’d ever been, with a knife.