  Ifound in a nursery corner, A pocket-knife, pen, and a ball, And this was the story they told me, If I can remember it all. 'My beautiful handle was broken,' The pocket-knife mournfully cried, 'When Alfred forced open the clock-face To see if old Time was inside.' 'And look,' said the ball with a shudder, 'I'm scratched in a horrible way, Because through the drawing-room window He carelessly flung me to-day.' 'And worse,' cried the pen in a passion, 'Worse, worse than their troubles a lot! I've been in disgrace, since he used me, For making a terrible blot.' And then they all cried in a chorus: 'In sorrow we're ending our days, Because Master Alfred is careless, And walks in such mischievous ways.' |
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