The Crook

From a book

I once read a book

In a library booth

About a crook

Of simple youth

Love would overlook

Bore a sore tooth

And slept on a stook

Oft’ ran from the sleuth

Soaking wet in his nook

Raging hunger to soothe

He attempted to cook

A soupy fish soup

Winter came; he shook

Truth told, forsooth

Stole; he took

No one he knew

And with sore foot

He washed a bruise

Down by the brook

So without shoes

Went a fishhook

Nothing he could do

Infection partook

And died without ado

This simple crook

Without clothes or food

At the end of the book