There’s a Proust in my classroom,
Wolfe washes windows at the mall.
Paton delivers pizzas,
And Byron’s sweeping halls.

Chekhov’s tying sutures
And Steinbeck walks the street.
Browning drives a taxi while
Poe butchers meat.

Faulkner’s flipping burgers,
As Carroll’s brewing beer.
Shakespeare’s adding numbers
While Scott’s an auctioneer.

Hardy’s playing football
And Joyce is cleaning loos.
Tolkien translates memos
As Brontë sings the blues.

No one ever hears them,
The stories they would have told.
They live their lives unnoticed
And pass with pockets full of gold.

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