Clematus was a backwoods’ boy,
He was back woodsy as they get.
I watched his youthful eyes grow wide
When first he saw a TV set.

He was running through the hotel
Where each new wonder brought him glee.
Then he brought a cup of water
And, happily, handed it to me.

I drank it to make him happy
Although its taste was far from fair.
He asked if he could bring some more
For all the others standing there.

But he came back with empty hands,
Without the cups he was to bring.
“I can’t get any more,” he said,
“A man is sitting on the spring!”