The Juggler

There’s the fellow who juggles the sharp-edged knife,

     The cane and the live cigar;

The fellow who throws on top of his nose

     A table or touring car.

The fellow who juggles a dozen balls,

     And does it with wondrous skill;

And the chap who brings white doves and things

     From the folds of a dollar bill.

O, they are marvels and wield their spells

     Each night in the vaudeville show;

But they’re plain as day and somewhat passé

     To other jugglers we know.

There’s the fellow we read of now and then,

     And at whom we look askance,

Who lives like a lord at home and abroad,

     Who juggles in high finance.

He juggles accounts to suit himself,

     And puzzles the older brains;

He weaves right well a mystical spell

     Till little or nothing remains.

If you want to juggle use canes and balls,

     Use Bowies and potted plants,

But take it from us, don’t get in a muss

     By juggling with high finance.

June 6, ‘10