Classic Poem

If I could stand, gel, goldenly,
Like glinting dandelions do,
I would go grandly down the lane,
And knock, and ask your dad for you.

When I clomp heavy home at night,
They glim like guineas on the way,
Until the fairies thieve their gold,
And spend it all on clocks next day.

But seven-and-forty pounds I have,
Come Michaelmas I'll make three more,
And then, belike, your dad will hear
An ash-stick tapping on his door.