From a burglar in his flight.
I see the lights of "the village"
Gleam through the evening mist,
And a feeling of dryness comes o'er me,
And a tiddley I can't resist.
A feeling of blueness, and longing
For a spree, and another drain;
It resembles sorrow only
As gooseberry does champagne.
Come, tip me some snappy poem,