Proust bundled up in blankets,
In summer he wore a big coat.
Maman Proust said, "He's my baby,
Can I help it if I dote?"
Pere Proust had a constitution
Like a blue ribbon bull or ox.
Did he think that his son Marcel
Was a creeepy little fox?
Imagine all the attention
The invalid would consume
Propped up on his comfy pillows
In his sunless cork-lined room
Being completely useless,
Scribbling his life away,
Explaining to the curious,
"This will be a book some day."
"Hypochondriac," some would sneer.
Proust's behavior left them aghast.
Let's hear what they say after reading
Remembrance of Things Past.