The Square Gent

There once was a farmer

Who plowed with his Plough

As the Angelus bells tolled

‘Hail Mary, Blessed art Thou.’

Daily he yearned for sweet fruit

Hung from many a Bough.

‘I shall be a square gent,’

He did quite often Vow.

Oh he never did take one

Though we’ll never know how.

Each time he did see them

He’d crinkle his brow

And respond with a

Regular gentlemanly Wow.

2 thoughts on “The Square Gent

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