THIS man Jones was what you'd call A feller 'at had no sand at all; Kind o' consumpted, and undersize, And sallor-complected, with big sad eyes And a kind-of-a-sort-of-a hang-dog style, And a sneakin' sort-of-a half-way smile 'At kind o' give him away to us As a preacher, maybe, er somepin' wuss. Didn't take with the gang -- well, no -- But still we managed to use him, though, -- Coddin' the gilly along the rout', And drivin' the stakes 'at he pulled out -- Fer I was one of the bosses then, And of course stood in with the canvasmen; And the way we put up jobs, you know, On this man Jones jes' beat the show! Ust to rattle him scandalous, And keep the feller a-dodgin' us, And a-shyin' round half skeered to death, And afeerd to whimper above his breath; Give him a cussin', and then a kick, And then a kind-of-a backhand lick -- Jes' fer the fun of seein' him climb Around with a head on most the time. But what was the curioust thing to me, Was along o' the party -- let me see, -- Who was our "Lion Queen" last year? -- Mamzelle Zanty, or De La Pierre? -- Well, no matter -- a stunnin' mash, With a red-ripe lip, and a long eyelash, And a figger sich as the angels owns -- And one too many fer this man Jones. He'd allus wake in the afternoon, As the band waltzed in on the lion-tune, And there, from the time 'at she'd go in Till she'd back out of the cage ag'in, He'd stand, shaky and limber-kneed -- 'Specially when she come to "feed The beasts raw meat with her naked hand" -- And all that business, you understand. And it @3was@1 resky in that den -- Fer I think she juggled three cubs then, And a big "green" lion 'at used to smash Collar-bones fer old Frank Nash; And I reckon now she hain't fergot The afternoon old "Nero" sot His paws on @3her!@1 -- but as fer me, It's a sort-of-a mixed-up mystery: -- Kind o' remember an awful roar, And see her back fer the bolted door -- See the cage rock -- heerd her call "God have mercy!" and that was all -- Fer they ain't no livin' man can tell @3What@1 it's like when a thousand yell In female tones, and a thousand more Howl in bass till their throats is sore! But the keeper said 'at dragged her out, They heerd some feller laugh and shout -- "Save her! Quick! I've got the cuss!" And yit she waked and smiled on @3us!@1 And we daren't flinch, fer the doctor said, Seein' as this man Jones was dead, Better to jes' not let her know Nothin' o' that fer a week or so. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LITTLE BLACK BOY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE 1914: 5. THE SOLDIER by RUPERT BROOKE A HYMN WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ALEXANDER POPE THE V-A-S-E by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE FAST ANCHOR'D ETERNAL O LOVE! by WALT WHITMAN |