The Times Table

More than halfway up the pass

Was a spring with a broken drinking glass,

And whether the farmer drank or not

His mare was sure to observe the spot

By cramping the wheel on a water-bar,

turning her forehead with a star,

And straining her ribs for a monster sigh;

To which the farmer would make reply,

'A sigh for every so many breath,

And for every so many sigh a death.

That's what I always tell my wife

Is the multiplication table of life.'

The saying may be ever so true;

But it's just the kind of a thing that you

Nor I, nor nobody else may say,

Unless our purpose is doing harm,

And then I know of no better way

To close a road, abandon a farm,

Reduce the births of the human race,

And bring back nature in people's place.