And not ten minutes later the doorbell rang
And into the hall he stepped as he always did
With a face and a bearing that quite poorly hid
His brain that burned and his heart that fairly sang
And his tongue that wanted to be rid of the truth.

As well as she could, for she was very loath
To signify how she felt, she kept very still,
But soon her heart cracked loud as a coffee mill
And her brain swung like a comet in the dark
And her tongue raced like a squirrel in the park.

~ Merrill Moore

Throughout his short lifetime, Merrill Moore produced a staggering number of sonnets.  In 1938, less than 20 years before his death, an article in the New Yorker estimated that he had produced 50,000 sonnets. 

Apparently, Moore discovered his talent for sonnets in secondary school and it is believed that he purposely learned shorthand in college so that he could quickly jot down poems in between classes.

In addition to his works as a poet, Moore was also an accomplished psychiatrist.  He is said to have often walked barefoot, in a suit, along the streets of Boston on his way to meetings because he “liked the feel of grass in his toes”.

It seems that the prolific writer inherited his gift from his father, John Trotwood Moore, who was appointed Poet Laureate of Tennessee. 

Moore passed away from cancer at the age of 54.