Fire !
'Twas Sunday; the mistress had gone off to church,
And Polly the parrot hung high on her perch,
Now Thomas the house cat was hovering nigh
With the most diabolical look in his eye.
He, being a prowler, (he would sometimes steal)
Was secretly planning to get a square meal.
Some soldiers at drill on the court near at hand,
The captain was heard to command.
Then Poll, all attentive, was soon filled with ire-
'Twas a foregone conclusion - the captian said "Fire!"
but she not well versed in the parlance of drill,
Essayed to dispute him in a voice somewhat shrill.
She eyed her surrondings, but discovered no fire,
Gave vent to her feelings and promptly yelled "Liar!"
Opportunity knocked - Old Tom with a bound
Brought Polly and perch with a crash to the ground.
With a wild scream of terror, poor Poll Was soon dead-
Old Tom, in his glee, promptly chewed off her head.
Moral:
Never jump to conclusions. Stop. Weigh well your belief,
Be not hasty to censure lest it bring you to grief.
Mrs. C. E. Gilcrist
Back to poem page