Ballad of the Dollar

Sometime towards the end of May,
A boy walked alone on wood-grove way
He whistled the tune of a popular song
Until slowly but surely a man came along

The man was short, but fat all the same
His shoes were polished, but his smile pained
He puffed on a pipe while he walked very slow
And when he passed the boy, he hollered 'hello'

The boy gave a start when he heard the fat man
He was still busy whistling, but offered his hand
The man shook it with unexpected strength
And asked of the boy 'have you a dollar, dear saint?'

The boy shook his head and kept down the road,
Heartening his whistle to a jovial blow
The man grasped his shoulder and pulled him aside
'young man, have you a dollar? I asked you polite.'

The boy pulled his shoulder and backed away
He hurried his pace, but the tune never swayed.
He walked very fast from the fat, persistent man
And he didn't see the knife which was raised in his hand.

And sometime towards the end of May,
A man walked alone on wood-grove way
He whistled the tune which never once fell
To the dollar in his pocket which felt so swell.