"We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion;...
"...And, just as he felt he was getting nowhere, And almost about to give up in despair, He suddenly burst through a door and that Mayor Discovered one shirker! Quite hidden away In the Fairfax Apartments (Apartment 12-J) A very small, very small shirker named Jo-Jo was standing, just standing, and bouncing a Yo-Yo! Not making a sound! Not a yipp! Not a chirp! And the Mayor rushed inside and he grabbed the young twerp!
And he climbed with the lad up the Eiffelberg Tower. “This,” cried the Mayor, “is your towns darkest hour! The time for all Whos who have blood that is red To come to the aid of their country!” he said. “We’ve GOT to make noises in greater amounts! So, open your mouth, lad! For every voice counts!”
Thus he spoke as he climbed. When they got to the top, The lad cleared his throat and he shouted out, “YOPP!”
And that Yopp… That one small, extra Yopp put it over! Finally, at last! From that speck on that clover Their voices were heard! They rang out clear and clean. And the elephant smiled. “Do you see what I mean?… They’ve proved they ARE persons, no matter how small. And their whole world was saved by the smallest of All!”
It's ok to think it's funny, but "Horton Hears A Who" is one of my favorite pieces of lyrical poetry.