I’m found high up, a tiny crescent mark
a comma wand’ring from its rightful place
abused by every ill-read grocer’s clerk
some oft’ used plural noun to sore deface.
When I’m true placed, behind all proper nouns
the power of possession, I’ll at once confer.
I’m in mid-word? I beg thee, spare thy frowns,
you’ll know the missing letters I do there infer.
A worthless vestige, or some antiquated sign
I never was. Sad victim of some Ad-man’s pen
will never be, until the writing of the final line
means to us all the great, and last, amen.
When the rules of English usage they defile,
ALL the many Waterstones must we revile.

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