My age is three hundred and seventy-two. And I think with the deepest regret. How I used to pick up and voraciously chew. The dear little boys whom I met. I've eaten them raw in their holiday suits. I've eaten them curried with rice. I've eaten them baked in their jackets and boots. And found them exceedingly nice. But now that my jaws are too weak for such fare. I think it exceedingly rude. To do such a thing when I'm quite well aware. Little boys do not like being chewed. And so I contentedly live upon eels. And try to do nothing amiss. And I pass all the time I can spare from my meals. In innocent slumber - like this