Tim’s sciomania was bad—
The worst that any man had had.
Tim hung around on sunny days
To watch some shadows. Oh, he’d gaze
For hours as the shadows danced
And flickered, waved, sometimes pranced.
The saddest thing was when they shrank,
Which darkened him—and then he drank!
And cloudy days depressed Tim more—
And nights were worst—they made him roar.
At last, Tim bought bought a special lamp,
Which fastened to him with a clamp.
And so he lived, our friend named Tim,
His shadow always next to him.