With the sad poodle, can in hand,
The angel still at the old stand.
"My friend," said the angel, hemming and humming,
"Truly I thought you were never coming."
"That's an unhandsome thing to say,
Seeing I've only been gone a day.
But there's nothing in all your brazen sky
To match the cock of that poodle's eye.
Take your dish and give me my wings,
'Tis but a fair exchange of things."