Oh, woe for Mom, and for her town
And the kidlets in her mansion,
For she has dwindled half-way down
For lack of wit and scansion.
Her chilluns off in far-off lands
Too busy are to tend her,
And none of all her salty hands
Will turn out now to mend her!
And I alone, of all her young
Have come back home to raise her.
Oh,, pity Mom, who all alone
Has no-one left to praise her!!

Barnaby Catholic Tiddly
Chief Prognosticator
Tennessee Council on Expanded Rhetorical Devices
Nashville, 1932