Classic Poem

“C AN you tell me,” said a punster
Who had in our sanctum popped,
And upon the floor was seeking
For a penny he had dropped—

“Can you tell me why, at present,
I am like Noah's weary dove?”
And he glanced with inward tremor
Towards a gun that hung above.

“Would'st thou know?” he queried, blandly,
As he dodged the cudgel stout
Which we shied at him in anger—
“'Tis because I'm one cent out.”