Little Harry Careless
Was always losing things—
Shoes and hats, and slates and books,
Pencils, marbles, strings—
Till at last his mother
Took a faded flag
(A great, enormous one it was)
And made of it a bag.
"Now, my careless Harry,"
Said she, with a kiss,
"When you feel like losing things,
Pop them into this."
"That I will," cried Harry,
Happy as a king;
And since he's had the losing bag
He's never lost a thing.
"HOLD YOUR GIRAFFE, SIR?"
THE GIRAFFE IS HELD.