1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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