THE CAT AND THE BROOM
The broom looks tattered and tired today,
The raggedest Stick of broom;
It couldn’t reach up for a cobweb grey
Or sweep out the smallest room.
…
And trusty Tompkins, our little black cat,
With fur like the finest silk,
Is curled up tight in a ball on the mat
Too sleepy to drink his milk.
…
But the bald old broom looks rakish and sly,
As if it had been on a spree;
And puss from a narrow satin eye
Looks wickedly out at me.
…
Ho, ho! I know what the rascal pair
In the midnight hours were at;
It wasn’t moussing or sweeping the stair
That made them look like that.
…
I know by the old broom’s battered plight
And Tompkin’s look of sin,
They were both of them out with a witch last night,
And they’ve just got in.
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