English poem
Mr. Wells
On Sunday morning, then he comes To church, and everybody smells The blacking and the toilet soap And camphor balls from Mr. Wells.
He wears his whiskers in a bunch, And wears his glasses on his head. I mustn't call him Old Man Wells-- No matter--that's what Father said.
And when the little blacking smells And camphor balls and soap begin, I do not have to look to know That Mr. Wells is coming in.