Just fifty pounds of skin and bones.
THE RED, RED ROSE
The red, red rose is beautiful,
As it grows by the garden-walk,
But do not sit on the red, red rose—
There’s a thorn in its every stalk!
THINGS WE SHOULD NOT FORGET
No man can be all right—half of him is left.
And no matter which shoe you put on first you always put the left one on last.
What kind of cow gives the milk of human kindness?