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Nathan Nobb


By William Brighty Rands

Nathan Nobb,
Oh, what a job!
Always walked on his head;
His mother would sob
To his brother Bob,
And his father took to his bed.

They made him a boot
His head to suit,
But a horrible thing must be said, -
His hair took root,
And began to shoot,
One day, in the garden bed!

So there he stands
With the help of his hands
And a little support from his nose:
The gardener man,
With the watering-can,
Says, "Gracious, how fast he grows!"


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