Though I could give it tone,
And often when the people snored
I've felt they would not be so bored
By sermons of my own;
But if the Secretaries cry
For secretaries--here am I;
Or nobly would I occupy
The taxi-driver's throne.

For I should beam across the street
When people waved at me,
And say, "My petrol's incomplete,
I haven't had my bit of meat
Nor yet my bit of tea,
But just because I like your face
I'll take you out to any place
However distant from my base--
And ask no extra fee."

And yet I doubt could England bear
To see my rest destroyed?
A soul so delicate and fair
Should simply saunter through the air
And cultivate the void;
One would not readily degrade
One's loveliness in _any_ trade,
Only, of course, one must be paid
For being unemployed.

A. P. H.