Mister Nail lodged in a piece of wood;
He was proud of his screwy wife.
She held up a golden metal hood,
A brass screw, she was Mister Nail's life.
She was somewhat joined yet somewhat loose,
And loosely planned a lovers' spree.
She loved a hook and whom she thought to seduce;
In a knot-hole hidden tryst she sought to be.
And so one day she went away,
Abandoning poor Mister Nail.
He bent much under such pain that day,
His iron heart gave a bitter wail,
Tear-washed in his misery.
Soon nearly rusted through would he be.
But then things seemed to turn aright
As the old shrew came back again.
Her face gleamed all brass and bright;
Old loves rust not, she said. Amen!