Beside the gate I saw a man,
I asked him: “Who are you?”
He looked me up, he looked me down;
Replied: “How do you do?”
“It doesn’t matter, not at all!”
I shouted at him, proud and tall,
And threw at him my shoe.

The man stepped forth before the gate;
I told him to get lost.
But he just smiled and gave to me
The shoe that I just tossed.
“Would you prefer a cup of tea,
Now that you have affronted me?
It would be free of cost.”

“It much depends upon the tea,
If it be black or green.
If it be filtered pure and true
Or squeezed from a machine.
And lo the dread, should it be red;
I must declare and have it said:
Just stab me in my spleen.”

The man then said to my dismay
That “It is mostly blue.
Though none can say if that is well,
And properly thought through.”
“It doesn’t matter, not at all!”
I vainly cried, now feeling small.
“I bid you now adieu.”