Babbling carelessly down
The garrulous way of the fox,
He found himself far from the town
Where populi wasn’t that vox
He asked for another concern,
But there were no others about —
His mind could find no place to turn
Without a convention to flout
For the wood and the leaves and the dirt
Are commonly thought of as shy
As their message is not that overt —
Though you can find it out if you try —
Warbling thoughtlessly through
The pilloried ways of the past
He found that last shall be first,
And the first aren’t likely
To last
