Being the Eighteenth of the Black Hole Ballads.
Small stream that swirls ‘neath rustic span,
Apt emblem of a roguish man –
Rowdy and quick he moves along,
And on his lips a merry song;
With rolling gait and laugh of horse,
Intent upon a zig-zag course,
Ungainly and yet smart in all he does,
Cursed at yet liked where’er he goes;
Serious, yet full of charm and grace,
With mischief reflected in his face.
4. 2. 1928