I must tell you, memories of long ago
About things I had, are of sadness I used to know.
I do tell you, for sure, there's no toy
That I loved and cherished as a boy
Nor was there a blanket that I used for comfort.
But perhaps there was something of that sort
In the form of some kind of cover for the head.
No ordinary hat, though, it should be said.
But very foreign, tasselled and red.
It was a fez, I'll have you know.
And very much loved, I'll tell you so.
But it was the loss that made me sad,
And all because I'd been very bad.
"Go off to play," to her son, said mother
"And keep amused, this boy, this other!"
Glaring contemptuously she, "this boy", this was me.
That I was a big nuisance, I could very plainly see.
So off we went, well away, to another room,
He little suspecting possible doom.
The mother's boy, a year or two older,
Felt he had a right to be the much bolder.
From the start of our play, it was: "Do this, do that",
And "Why are you wearing that ridiculous hat?"
Right there and then, from my head he snatched it,
And with a swift kick he quickly dispatched it.
Then, disdainful and uncaring, he turned away,
With his back toward me, he continued his play.
From my eyes welled huge tears of rage
Which at that time, no mortal could assuage.
So, looking around the room we were in,
Through my tears I spied the mother's hatpin.
This weapon I seized and went to the attack
And plunged the hatpin into mother's boy's back.

Fortunately, I was little, small and weak,
So it was very little damage did I wreak.
But it was enough for the boy to make screams
That would, if asleep, wake mother from her dreams.
Mother raged in, saw, in my hand, the hatpin
And knew that I was guilty of the ultimate sin.
The dangerous criminal, in his room was confined,
His beloved, favourite hat to the furnace assigned.
His body was cleansed with strong castor oil,
But doubtful it was, there was saving of his soul.

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