There once was a rather quaint man,
Who was something of a fool,
Not of the royal court variety you understand,
But a fool of innocent folly,
A little touched perhaps,
Clumsy in the extreme,
Yet this clumsiness was somehow blessed by Plutus,
Received of some idiotic luck,
He would trip into the best outcomes,
Face-first into free change and treasure,
He’d bump his head and always recall the way,
Fumble words in just the right manner,
The tears in his suit would flaunt his best features,
A simple jester of modern life,
An honest dunce he was,
It was a pity what befell him,
Luck always runs out.
WorldofHarley 