SHINGLE-SHORT
All the way through, though, didn’ I smile?
Didn’ I chuckle, all the while?
When you haven’ to eat the bread,
Much you care if the sponge goes sour—
Specially when you’ve cake instead!
Outside’s on’y a pin-head part:—
Wa’n’t I at home inside my heart?
Hadn’t I Heaven in my head?
An’ didn’ them ugly moments thread,
Straight as cotton, to this good hour?
There, now! ’F all things under the sun
Nicer-lookin’ I never seen.
Good lines; even, an’ smooth, an’ clean!
Feelin’ better? Your hull is done!
Still, you’re a senseless son of a gun,
Ain’t you? stuck-in-the-mud, an’ blind—
On’y a body, be you, son?
Now I’m a-goin’ to make your Mind!
Clock! you’re bound for a bit o’ change.
I shall miss you, an’ you’ll feel strange———
Wonder, now, little Tick-tick-tick,
If ocean-motion ‘ll turn you sick?
Sorry—can’t help it!....’N, if I’m late,
Missis ’ll thankfully set me straight.
Seems to bustle her up, to find
Time runnin’ on, with me behind—
Straightens her back-bone, whips her blood,
Tautens her belt, like, does her good.
Waste o’ worry! What’s time to we,
When there’s all of Eternity?
15
