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In Other Words/True Comfort

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True Comfort

(There is nothing quite so comforting in this life as a
word of five syllables.—Mr. W. Pett Ridge.)

Brevity! Heavens, what inefficaciousness!
Brevity! Piffle! A mere fabulosity!
Comfort is only a great ostentatiousness;
Quiet is only in vociferosity.

Shortness in writing denotes adolescency,
Me for an erudite, big etymologist—
One who can tell you the true delitescency
Found in the brain of a phytopathologist.

Still, I believe that a man pharmaceutical
Seems, in a measure, to be reimbursable,
Arguing thus, it seems quite therapeutical
Voters for Taft are to be incoercible.

Which, to a mind beyond doubt algebraical,
Seems but the rankest of rank meretriciousness,
Silly and sad, not to say pharisaical;
Bless you! the thing is but old superstitiousness!

Ah! How I flounder in mad inconclusiveness!
Mad is this quinquepedalian verbosity.
“Comfort?” Great heavings! What mad perdiffusiveness—
Look at me here in complete comatosity!