Still others are skinny and thin—

And some skip along, a-humming a song,

But others are simply all in.

But where’er they come from, or whither they go,

We pigeon-hole each of them so,

We group them, and sort them, and label them all,

The short ones, the skinny, and tall.

There’s the man or the woman, the boy or the girl,

That’s always a-wishing a share

In somebody’s fortune, or somebody’s fame,

Yes, they wish for the moon ’way up there.—

Then there’s that group of persons

Who talk, talk, and talk,

You simply don’t know what they say—

From morning till night they keep talking away,

And the night is like unto the day.—

But quietly along, on the very same road,

Walk others, with little to say,

[Pg 37]

And if they have wishes (What mortals have not?),

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