He bent right down to pick up his valise
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb