Curios Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

'I've 'ad,' said Dan, 'a sight o' curios,
But where they've gone, Lord knows!
The junk I've packed around, alive an' dead,
The parrots green an' red,
Models o' ships whittled in bone or wood,
An' sperm-whale teeth tattooed:'

'An' walkin'-sticks cut out o' sharks' backbones,
An' beads, an' coloured stones,
An' bacca pouches made o' seabirds' feet
You catch wi' bits o' meat,
An' sennet mats (I'll learn you, son, the way
To make them mats one day):'

'Coral, an' bottled flowers, an' singin' shells,
An' - ah, Lord knows what else!
But there, I've giv' 'em all to fancy gals,
Or sold 'em to my pals:
There ain't no sense in keepin' curios, see,
For ramblin' blokes like me.'