Who is it, when my prayers are
Eats the shingles off the shed,
And licks the window near my head?
Who is it, when the clothes are
On the line, left for drying,
Eats the whole wash without
Who is it, when the fishes kind,
Swim a mile my hook to find,
Rushes at me from behind?
And when from wordly things I
And seek relief in Masonry,
Who meets me all in mask of black,
And winks his eye and bows his