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242 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 2011
I cannot simply stand and watch
A man of fourteen stone
Skinning his wife upon the sly
And thinking he's alone.
I always go straight up to him
And take away his knife,
Then looking in his eyes I say,
"Why must you skin your wife?"
On nine times out of every ten
Two tears start from his eyes,
And if he's really genuine
He follows them with sighs
And then a kind of plaintive groan
Wracks his whole body through
Which makes me give him back his knife
And say "Go friend, and skin your wife
I see your point of view."
The trouble with geraniums
Is that they're much too red!
The trouble with my toast is that
It's much too full of bread.
The trouble with a diamond
Is that it's much too bright:
The same applies to fish and stars,
And the electric light.
The trouble with the crows I see
Lies in the way they fly;
The trouble with myself is all
Self-centred in the eye.
The trouble with my looking-glass
Is that it shows me, me:
There's trouble in all sorts of things
Where it should never be.