Thesaurus Rex: Defunct
(The Agony in the Life of a Crossword Puzzler)
I know a "sea eagle" is an "erne" and the Egyptian god named "Horus,"
I have the French for "school,"—"ecole"—and a synonym for "porous;"
"Tio" is "Uncle in Barcelona" and "worthless stuff" is "dross,"
But with four letters in and three to go, I'm stuck on "Twelve-Across."
"Eight-down" provides a consonant, from "resilient" meaning "hard,"
But there's little satisfaction in a line taken from the Bard,
For Ophelia's words supply an "e"—the ubiquitous vowel, you know,
So I grumble and pour more coffee, another "cup of Joe."
I sip and stare upon the page and the words I have completed—
"Half of XIV" is "VII" and for "took out" I wrote "deleted."
Yet, in the center of the puzzle, like Coleridge's albatross,
Hang the yawning, unfilled spaces of that cursed "Twelve-Across."
But Joy! I notched the general's name who won at Waterloo,
And I divined as "altar words" the love-struck vow "I do;"
Leon Uris authored "Topaz" and a Hebrew month's "Adar,"
A "positive pole" is an "anode" and "something wished on" is a "star."
But alas, I am defeated, vanquished, routed, overcome;
I'll never close this puzzle—I must yield, concede, succumb—
And on the stone above my body, they will note my tragic loss
By writing "He lies below, pen in hand, still stuck on 'Twelve-Across'."
