While once in haste I crossed the street,
A little girl I saw,
Deep in the mud she’d placed her feet,
And gazed on me with awe.
“Dear sir,” with trembling tone she said,
“Here have I stood for weeks,
And never had a piece of bread,”
Her tears bedewed her cheeks.
“Poor child!” said I, “do you stand here,
And quickly will I buy,
Some wholesome bread and strengthening beer,
And fetch it speedily.”
Off ran I to the baker’s shop,
As hard as I could pelt,
Fearing ’twas late, I made a stop,
And in my pocket felt.
In my left pocket did I seek,
To see how time went on,
Then grief and tears bedewed my cheek,
For, oh! My watch was gone!
Moral: “Keep your wits about you.”