The day I first came home from jail,
When all my folk, so primly clad,
Glowered black and thought me mad,
And muttered how they'd been respected,
While I was what they'd all expected.
(I've thought of that old dog for years,
And of how near I come to tears.)
'But you, you minds of bread and cheese,
Are less divine than that dog's fleas.
You suck blood from kindly friends,