The Gray Spooky-spook.

The Gray Spooky-spook.
335.2

The gray Spooky-spook is a creature so weird
That he frightens himself half to death,
As he shrieks through the midnight and tugs at his beard
While good folk lie holding their breath;
And he faints dead away till the first dawn of day,
While his blood runs as cold as a clam,
As he sits in his gloom on the roof of a tomb
And thinks: “How uncanny I am!”

Wheel Gadzook! For the gray Spooky-spook –
What a cheerful companion he is!
As he tells, turning green,
Of the murders he’s seen,
Till his knees and his knuckles are friz.

When the gray Spooky-spook has a mind to be gay
He does what you’d think he would do – He sits in a graveyard and groans in a way
That makes all the owls inquire: “Who?”
He tells how his Granduncle Anderson died
Of poison and hunger and fright;
Then he weeps on your shoulder, remarking with pride:
“Come, let us be merry to-night!”

Shoo! Gadzook! For the gray Spooky-spook- A jovial character he,
As he tells how it feels
To be hanged by the heels
Or shot with one’s back to a tree.

When the gray Spooky-spook goes to visit the sick
He then looks especially sad,
As he murmurs: “Tut-tut! change your medicine quick,
For you’re looking most frightfully bad!”
Then he reads you a dirge on cremation and chill
And the death-rate from sunstroke and sorrow,
And he sighs as he goes: “You seem hopelessly ill,
But I’m sure you’ll feel better to- morrow.”

Hist! Gadzook!
For the gray Spooky-spook,
Who’s as cheerful and gay as a pall;
And it gives me a thrill
Of delight, when I’m ill,
To know that the Spooky will call