Poor chap, that tramp —his beauty       confiscated          by filth;   Left to pray mindless    ly in the gutter,      in arrears         to the street; At church for his tea-and-two-slices   his offering but           a burned-up blade     of grass and             still he prayed;   O, heaven, my galoshes    are glummed,   my ears beaten             by duns;   O, keep me,       even though —