There was an Old Man of Madras,
Who rode on a cream-coloured ass;
But the length of its ears,
So promoted his fears,
That it killed that Old Man of Madras.
by Hervey Allen
Where the common chickens strutted,
Pecking, scratching restlessly amid the stone,
He came, the golden pheasant and a thing of flame,
And lived, we thought, alone—
Altho' at night among the rest he ...