He wished he had a handy-man
Who every Thursday would come
And finally get something done
For this man of all thumbs
A worker bee for this drone
Who makes a list for him
Of where to dig or paint
The dripping under the sink
The gutters the broken gate
While he just sits and writes
About his service to the queen
His loyalty to the crown
His plans for a new kind of honey
Such as the world has never seen
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