A-lopping on a car-barn bench I spied
Gilly the Grip, quite recent this p.m.,
Just like a lily on a broken stem
Or like a Salt Lake buck without a bride.
"Chirk, Gilly, chirk!" I says in tones of pride,
"Perhaps this unhinged heart is just pro tem.
The world is full of pompadours for them
That keep their search-lights peeled from side to side."

But Gill remarked, "Eh, what? Say, I'm so slow
I couldn't catch the hour-hand on a clock.
I'm simply stationary as they grow;.
A lamp-post race could beat me round the block.
You needn't think you're such an Alfred G.,
To motor by a quarry-cart like me!"