142
what's o'clock
It's a surer sign than the almanac.
The barometer's risen a point or two
Since yesterday, and this mist is blue,
Not grey. I am sorry I cannot stop,
But a surgeon is always on the hop,
If it's not for one thing, it's another.
Of course you're anxious because of your brother.
Tell him he'll soon have all the basking
In sunlight he wants, and just for the asking.
But I must go, Mrs. Green's brought to bed—
Oh, tell him to keep it off of his head."
The barometer's risen a point or two
Since yesterday, and this mist is blue,
Not grey. I am sorry I cannot stop,
But a surgeon is always on the hop,
If it's not for one thing, it's another.
Of course you're anxious because of your brother.
Tell him he'll soon have all the basking
In sunlight he wants, and just for the asking.
But I must go, Mrs. Green's brought to bed—
Oh, tell him to keep it off of his head."
Smash! Bang! Mr. Keats. Another chain
Is snapped, and there's a gold tint to the rain.
Is snapped, and there's a gold tint to the rain.
Simmons the barber's as shrunk as a pippin
Hung on a beam which you might nick a chip in,
But never could suck for its juice is all dried.
This afternoon he is standing inside
Hung on a beam which you might nick a chip in,
But never could suck for its juice is all dried.
This afternoon he is standing inside
