The Wonderful Old Man

There was an old man

Who lived on a common

And, if fame speaks true,

He was born of a woman.

Perhaps you will laugh,

But for truth I've been told

He once was an infant

Tho' age made him old.

Whene'er he was hungry

He longed for some meat;

And if he could get it

`Twas said he would eat.

When thirsty he'd drink

If you gave him a pot,

And what he drank mostly

Ran down his throat.

He seldom or never

Could see without light,

And yet I've been told he

Could hear in the night.

He lived -- how many years

I truly can't decide;

But this one fact appears

He lived -- until he died.

"He died," I have averred,

But cannot prove `twas so,

But that he was interred,

At any rate I know.

I fancy he'd a son,

I hear he had a wife:

Perhaps he'd more than one,

I know not, on my life!

But whether he was rich,

Or whether he was poor,

Or neither -- both -- or which,

I cannot say, I'm sure.

I can't recall his name,

Or what he used to do:

But then -- well, such is fame!

`Twill so serve me and you.

And that is why I thus,

About this unknown man

Would fain create a fuss,

To rescue, if I can.

From dark oblivion's blow,

Some record of his lot:

But, ah! I do not know

Who -- where -- when -- why -- or what.

Moral

In this brief pedigree

A moral we should find --

But what it ought to be

Has quite escaped my mind.

Anonymous