There once was a Gnome, who was all but a wrapper,
A remainder of what he once had been.
A gnome who relied on the safety of words,
Fighting off boredom with pens.
His friend Elephant called, a friend from times past,
And asked why his gnome friend had grown silent.
“To be honest,” he said, finally speaking into the phone,
“It’s on writing, not speech, I’m reliant.”
Edit: No, I don’t know what all this means either.