Classic Poem

An old man sat in a dingy room,
And a queer old man was he:
He was angle and point from his elbow joint
To the crook of his awkward knee;
His legs were long, and his face was long,
And as sad as a face could be;
But his eyes were bright with a dangerous light,
As he hummed with ghoulish glee:
" Only a penny a loaf,
Only a penny a loaf;
'Tis only a penny a loaf to the poor,
But it's millions of dollars to me. "

He bought all the bread in town one day,
And the poor man cursed amain;
But little he cared how the eaters fared —
He was not in a caring vein.
For the golden wheat, that was made to eat,
To him was a thing for gain;
So his features thin wore a ghastly grin
As he hummed this merry strain:
" Only a penny a loaf,
Only a penny a loaf;
'Tis only a penny a loaf to the poor,
But it's millions of dollars to me. "

The poor man sat at his meager board,
With his wife and children near.
Oh, they saw not, I ween, the phantom lean
That gazed on their feast with a leer;
And they never thought that a guest unsought,
The wraith of an old man queer,
Stood silent and grim in a corner dim,
And whispered this chorus drear:
" Only a penny a loaf,
Only a penny a loaf;
'Tis only a penny to you, my dears,
And it's millions of dollars to me! "