Classic Poem

How many skillful housewives, in this pleasant world of

ours,
Lock the mince pie in the cupboard till it 's mouldy or it

sours?
Then it 's hurried on the table, and it 's forced upon your

plate,
When to eat it you 're unable, and its advent is too late.

How many gentle words we lock in the cupboard of the

heart,
Till the ones who should have heard them are from us

far apart?
Then let us always say them when they 're formed and

first complete ;
Let us eat our mince pies, always, while they 're savory

and they 're sweet