A Study In The ‘Nood’
He was bare we don’t want to be rude (His condition was owing to drink) They say his condition was nood, Which amounts to the same thing, we think (We mean his condition, we think, ’Twas a naked condition, or nood, Which amounts to the same thing, we think) Uncovered he lay on the grass That shrivelled and shrunk; and he stayed Three hot summer days, while the glass Was one hundred and ten in the shade. (We nearly remarked that he laid, But that was bad grammar we thought It does sound bucolic, we think It smacks of the barnyard Of farming of pullets in short.) Unheeded he lay on the dirt; Beside him a part of his dress, A tattered and threadbare old shirt Was raised as a flag of distress. (On a stick, like a flag of distress Reversed we mean that the tail-end was up half-mast on a stick an evident flag of distress.) Perhaps in his dreams he persood Bright visions of heav’nly bliss; And artists who study the nood Never saw such a study as this. The ‘luggage’ went by and the guard Looked out and his eyes fell on Grice We fancy he looked at him hard, We think that he looked at him twice. They say (if the telegram’s true) When he woke up he wondered (good Lord!) ‘Why the engine-man didn’t heave to ‘Why the train didn’t take him aboard.’ And now, by the case of poor Grice, We think that a daily express Should travel with sunshades and ice, And a lookout for flags of distress.