John Mole, “The Edward Lear Poem.”
The Spectator, 2 December 1989, p. 42.
He kept his wife in a box he did
And she never complained though the neighbours did
Because of the size of the box and the way
He tried to behave in a neighbourly way
But smiled too much of a satisfied smile
For a body to know what to make of his smile.
Then there came such a terrible cry one night
Of the kind you don’t like to hear in the night
Though the silence that followed was broken at last
By the blows of a hammer which seemed to last
For ever and ever and ever and ever
And no one set eyes on that man again ever.
On John Mole.