The Wail of the Railway Ham Sandwich

When our lives are in the gloaming,
And the night comes hither fast,
Stern memory Reckons back again
The sunlight of the past.

The task becomes a torture,
As we sadly reckon o'er
The delights and the ambitions
That are flown for evermore.

The last of my companions
Disappeared this very morn,
He has left me to my solitude,
Neglected and forlorn.

Alas ! my sole employment
Is to heave a bitter sigh ;
And recall my double birthplace,
In the corn-field and the stye.

But away fond recollections!
A distinguished poet sings :
"That a sorrow's crown of sorrow
Is remembering happy things.

Why dwell on reminiscences
That summon me so far,
While pining ignominiously
Within this railway bar ?

I vainly seek from dawn till eve
To tempt the outer world,
With coagulated mustard,
And a corner crisply curled.

The most untutored epicure,
Would spurn me as I He,
And the famine-stricken mendicant
Would coldly pass me by.

Can aught retard the wing of time ?
Say, visionary wild;
Cans't look to feel in middle age
The freshness of the child ?

The cruel hand of Destiny—
No failing of my own—
Hath struck me down iu sorrow here,
Stale, crumpled, and alone.

Three weeks agone - or little more—
My brief career began ;
I then was topmost in the crowd—
The leader of my clan.

We braved the rivalry of beef,
Of buns, of bread and cheese ;
We braved—to speak in metaphor—
The battle and the breeze.

That merry time is over,
It was yet for me to learn
All the horrors of an atmosphere
That made my edges turn.

And the fumes of the tobacco,
And the odours of the drink,
And a hundred other 'taiseries
Too deep for pen and ink.

While doom-ed barmaids flitter,
On their duty, to and fro,
I courted public appetite
Where feeders come and go.

But they deemed me all unfitted
For their palates or their teeth ;
So they lifted me and bore away
A friend from underneath.

And then my life has crawled along,
Till not a hope survives
But that of being bolted by
The boy who cleans the knives.

I have my doubts about him—
He's a hungry-looking brat—
But I hardly dare to fancy
He would stoop so low as that!

I might be handed over to
The kittens or the pup,
But my mustard is against me—
They would cock their noses up.

I believe if I were offered them
For food this very day,
That the dog would never touch me,
While the cat would run away.

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