Mother Goose for Grownups/The Unusual Ubiquity of the Inquisitive Gander
A gander dwelt upon a farm
And no one could resist him,
For had he died, such was his charm,
His neighbors would have missed him:
His scorn for any loud display,
His cheerful hissing day by day,
Would win your heart in such a way
You almost could have kissed him.
This bird was always nosing ’round.
Most patiently he waited
Until an open door he found,
And then investigated.
He loved to poke, he loved to peek,
In every knothole, so to speak,
He quickly thrust his prying beak,
For what was hid he hated.
The farm exhausted: “Now,” said he:
“My policy’s expansion.
When one’s convinced how things should be
The proper course he can’t shun.”
His mind made up, he followed it,
Relying on his native wit,
And soon had wandered, bit by bit,
Through all his master’s mansion
“At least,” he said: “It’s not my fault
If everything’s not seen to:
I’ve gone from garret down to vault
And glanced into the lean-to.
In every room I’ve chanced to stop;
A supervising glance to drop,
I’ve looked below, I’ve looked on top,
Behind, and in between too!”
One thing alone he found to blame,
As thus his time he squandered,
For, seeing not the farmer’s dame,
Into her room he wandered,
And mounting nimbly on the bed:
“Why bless my careful soul!” he said:
“These pillows are as hard as lead.
Now, how comes that?” he pondered.
The farmer’s dame for half an hour
Had watched the bird meander,
And finding him within her power,
She leaped upon the gander.
“Why, how de do, my gander coy?”
She shouted: “What will be my joy
To dream to-night on you, my boy!”
(This was no baseless slander.)
For with a stoutish piece of string
Securely was this fool tied,
And by a leg and by a wing
Unto an oaken stool tied:
While, pinning towels around her gown,
She plucked him with relentless frown,
And stuffed the pillows with his down,
And roasted him for Yuletide.
The moral is: When you explore
Don’t try to be superior:
Be cautious, and retire before
Your safety grows inferior.
’Tis best to stay upon the coast,
Or some day you will be like most
Of all that bold exploring host
That’s gone to the interior.