Why did I try for that damn bird, anyway?
I suppose I had been in the habit of aiming for the pears.
But I chucked a stone, anyhow,
And it ricocheted and hit my head,
And as it hadn't any brains inside the stone busted it
And there I was, dead.
And dead with me were all the improper things
I'd got out of the servants about their employers
Bringing in the laundry;
But the grackle sings on.