Classic Poem

There is a youth unknown to fame,
Yet everybody knows his name;
He lives all over, here and there,
You find him almost anywhere.
You know him by his slimsy gait
That nothing can accelerate.
He takes things as they come or go—
We call him Billy Idon'know.

Or fat or tall, or short or slim,
He knows you not, but you know him,
And should you chance to be in doubt,
Ask him a question—you 'll find out;
And be his first name what it may,
You know his last name, anyway—
His drawly answer tells you so—
You 're talking to an Idon'know.

He knows not if it's May or June;
Nor that he whistles out of tune.
He goes through school so far behind
It needs no exercise of mind;
For in his class, you may depend,
He 's always at the farther end;
And all through life he stubs his toe,
This Nilly, Billy Idon'know.

His hands have never reached success
Because they're in his pockets pressed.
In this one thing doth he excel:
He always sleeps exceeding well.
When Death has whispered in his ear—
“You are no longer needed here!”
Just ask him where he means to go,
And he will answer: “Idon'know!”