Spied I once a poor guy,
A beggar without arms was he
"What is it that gives him glee?
Why so happy unlike me?"
Struck by shame was I then,
For I was a rich and blessed man,
Whop moped and grumbled all day long,
And hated laughter, hated songs,
But here was one unfortunate
Who did not grumble over his fate,
Walked I near, respectfully,
And said, "Good man, oh please tell me
The secret of your jollity.
Then I could advocate it too.
He stared at me, a reddish hue
Was on his face, and anger too.
"You blasted fool!" he hissed in rage.
The rest is not fit for this page.
I fled at once. It dawned on me.
He had not been dancing you see.
Probably, quite suddenly
His *** began to be itchy.
- Nina Alahakoon
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