He was a poet who wrote clever verses, And folks said he had a fine poetical taste; But his father, a practical farmer, accused him Of letting the strength of his arm go to waste. He called on his sweetheart each Saturday evening, As pretty a maiden as ever man faced, And there he confirmed the old man`s accusation By letting the strength of his arm go to waist.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.