He was as old as old could be,
His little eye could scarcely see
His mouth was sunken in between,
His nose and chin, and he was lean
And twisted up and withered quite,
So that he could not walk aright.
His pipe was always going out,
And then he'd have to search about
In all his pockets, and he'd mow
— O, deary me ! and, musha now !
And then he'd light his pipe, and then
He'd let it go clean out again.
He could not dance or jump or run,
Or ever have a bit of fun
Like me and Susan, when we shout
And jump and throw ourselves about:
But when he laughed then you could see
He was as young as young could be.
The Hill of Vision [1912]
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