Out on a walk, a Picker-pock
Was searching high and low
For mischief he did alway seek
When out about he’d go.
This day was different; Picker-pock
Was extra vertenly;
And found he him some tricks to make
Right by the Fritten tree.
Without a thought, the vainly wot
Did snick around the tree
And find him there a gristled pear
He ‘ssumed was meant for he.
Alas, ’twas poisoned, and our Pock
Did choke upon its seeds
But spat in time for saving breaths
Among the groundly weeds.
And Picker-pock, no lesson learnt,
Went home that fruited day,
Back to his mischieved life he went,
Tho pears a’now gave away.