There was once a small cog who turnd round by day.
He did without pressure nor greese.
I asked the small cog "Why you do such round things?"
He just smild and he turnd with such ease.
He turnd and he turnd with such effortless grace,
Then he went and he turnd round some more.
I thought "Turn with no greese? There's no end to this! Cease!"
But he turned and turnd sin decor.
He eventually seized, and I sat there and cried.
"My small cog, what a waste; I shall miss."
And that, my small friend, is what comes to an end
To a great cog who grinds with dismiss.
C'mon, take a guess! It's probably right.