"I think, therefore Iamb," he said, aghast
to find René Descartes upon his throne.
For William, of all straws, this was the last;
and with this man he craved to pick a bone.
"You thinkers all disturb me so," he whines,
"and just like Derrida, I'll tell you, too,
to deconstruct somewhere that no sun shines;
this artist is not dead, no more than you!"
The latter waved to René, and he said,
"Don't fret yourself for Avon's foolish ghost;
he doesn't even realize he's dead."
"Perhaps, but we are more alive than most!
So long as men can think, or eyes can see,
so long lives all your French philosophy."