I've often watched you, centipede,And I can't think howeverYou manage those long rows of feet --You must be very clever.
You seem to do it all so pat,Without a slip or jumble;If I could play my scales like thatMamma would never grumble.
Compared with you I feel a dunce,But then, of course, it may beYou did not learn it all at onceWhen you were but a baby,
So I may hope, dear centipede,That there's a good day coming,When I shall play long runs with speedInstead of slowly strumming.
