A certain nimble young clone and a certain grisly old Skele-tone, so called because every bone issued forth a different musical note upon being Struck, chanced to make acquaintance with each other beneath an Arch of the Emporium of Food in a Drawerium.
Spoke the Clone: I’se alone for the clone of which I’m cloned is now Done!
Spoke the Bone: I must Groan, for I’m lone, for from Throne to Throne one truth is Shown and that’s that day is done for a Living Bone!
Spoke the Clone: But who is me since who I once was is blurred forever
That from whom I’m sprung forth/Has been lost in the North of unknowing/And all that’s glowing within my DNA/is a blur of a spur of that first I who has long gone away!
Spoke the Bone:But who I am has long since deliquesced/And who I was is now gone/To me unknown/Said the clone/And unknowable (because flowable) I confess!
But wouldn’t you know that the bone of the clone (ten generations gone) stood before his tenth clone in the form of a bone/brought to life by a wizard/and taught to make tone!
And wouldn’t you learn (or couldn’t you earn the noggin-strength at length some day not to spurn) the humble truth
That the tone-bone whose name was Animate Skeletone had beheld in the clone the fate of the flesh (he confesh! cause his tongue was unsprung) that he was.
And the two of them danced in the dusk and the morn
Of the death and the born
Of a clone and his bone?
Not alike or alone?
And not two and not one?