The Objection To Being Stepped On
At the end of the row I stepped on the toe Of an unemployed hoe. It rose in offense And struck me a blow In the seat of my sense. It wasn’t to blame But I called it a name. And I must say it dealt Me a blow that I felt Like a malice prepense. You may call me a fool, But was there a rule The weapon should be Turned into a tool? And what do we see? The first tool I step on Turned into a weapon.