Classic Poem

W. E. H ENLEY and F RANÇOIS V ILLON Find a Few Things in Common.

Say, you there, guzzling from your dinky pail,
Pipe to my lay, and if it don't offend
Cut out the booze a minute; there's a tale
Some gringo-poet-dub once tried to send
Across the boards. D'ye savvy, comprehend?
A pote what wrote real man-talk — on the dead —
One who could put your think-tank on the bend;
And, with a lot of other guff, he said:
" Life hands us all a lemon in the end. "

He says, says he: " The joys of life are stale;
Punk, on the fritz; — you never can depend
On nothing, 'cept, of course, the county jail —
That's the caboose where every vag can spend
His month or more. " And so he says: " Extend —
Cut loose, vamoose; go hit the trail instead.
For if you think your luck is on the mend,
Remember, though you've found an easy bed,
" Life hands us all a lemon in the end." "

Drive it in, cull, it's sharp as any nail;
Stronger than Durham of the toughest blend;
The guy that said: " There's no such word as fail "
Must have seen things that make a bloke descend
From off the sprinkling-cart. Say, why pretend
Things can be rosy when you're underfed?
No one returns the money that you lend —
No one gives nothing; not a sou, a shred...
Life hands us all a lemon in the end.

ENVOY

Life? — It's a pair of dice that's plugged with lead;
A crooked game where Death's the dealer's friend.
And when we cash our chips in for the red
Life hands us all a lemon in the end!