Possum
I droops me eyes an' 'angs me 'ands, an' looks dead crook an' ill;
An' wriggles ev'ry time she sez, "Wot would yeh like now, Bill?"
An' then, one day, I 'ears the axe down there be'ind the 'ouse;
An' I sees meself a loafer, an' me conscience starts to rouse.
I 'eaves me frame out uv the chair, an' wanders down the yard.
She's beltin' at a knotty log, an' beltin' good an' 'ard.
I grabs the axe. "Give up," I sez. "I ain't no shattered wreck.
This 'ere's my job." An' then, Gawstruth! I gits it in the neck!
"Am I yer wife?" she asks me straight. "Why can't yeh trust me, Bill?
Am I not fit to see to things when you are weak an' ill?"
I tries to say I'm possumin', an' really well an' strong;
But ev'ry time I starts to tork she's got me in the wrong.
"Yeh can't deceive me, Bill," she sez. "Yer 'ealth is fur frum good.
Yeh jist can't trust yer wife to chop a little bit uv wood!
