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Title: Me And Bilkammle
Author: Eugene Field [
More Titles by Field]
I will, if you choose,
Impart you some news
That will greatly astound you, I know;
You would never suspect
My ambition was wreck'd
'Till you heard my confession of woe.
'Tis not that my boom
Has ascended the flume--
In other words, gone up the spout--
I could smile a sweet smile
This tempestuous while,
But me and Bilkammle are out!
Being timid and shrinkin',
He did all the thinkin',
When I did the talkin' worth mention;
'Twas my constant ambition
To soar to position
So I gave it exclusive attention;
And supposin' that he
Would of course be for me,
I rambled and prattled about
'Till I found to my horror,
Vexation, and sorror,
That me and Bilkammle were out.
As I tore my red hair
In a fit of despair
I heard my Achates complain
That the gent with the coffer
Had nothing to offer
In the way of relieving his pain!
* * * * *
If there's mortal to blame
For this villainous game
Which has snuffed a great man beyond doubt.
It's that treacherous mammal
Entitled Bilkammle--
Which accounts for us two bein' out!
[The end]
Eugene Field's poem: Me And Bilkammle
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