Maude Schall, upon a winter's day|
Passed out sweaters, brown and gray.
Beneath her black hat, all askew
Shown forth her kindly eyes of blue,
And down her face ran streams of sweat
Till she almost got the sweaters wet
"What's you name and where'r you from?"
Glibly ran her nimble tongue.
"What did you come here for anyway?
There'll be no work for many a day."
But the sweaters passed out more and more
And still the men crowd round the door.
And the unemployed man mused as he sat.
And thought "I wish that I had a job like that.
They surely must give pretty good pay
For working so hard to give sweaters away.
I give a sweater to every pet
But others would never a sweater get
And I have me one for every day.
If I had the job of giving sweaters away."
And Maude Schall mused as nearly beat
She gave thought to her aching feet
"I wish that I was unemployed too,
With not a thing in this world to do
But hold out my hand for what I need,
And growl if it is not delivered with speed."
And so she dreamed of all she might do
If she was only unemployed, too.
Then roused with a start. "Alas, alack,
I must hurry home and get dinner for Jack."