If I were a bit of a poet, my dear,
I would fashion for you
A bit of a poem, or a bit of a song;
And I’d sing it for you
The whole day long.
But I cannot write,
And I cannot sing.
In fact, I can scarcely do anything
That is worthy of you.
So I sit here on the shady lawn,
Prosaically sewing your buttons on.
CHRISTIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION