Of all the men I ever knew <br />The tinkingest was Uncle Jim; <br />If there were any chores to do <br />We couldn't figure much on him. <br />He'd have a thinking job on hand, <br />And on the rocking-chair he'd sit, <br />And think and think to beat the band, <br />And snap his galusus and spit. <br /> <br />We kids regarded him with awe - <br />His beard browned by tobacco stains, <br />His hayseed had of faded straw <br />The covered such a bunch of brains. <br />When some big problem claimed his mind <br />He'd wrestle with it for a fall; <br />But some solution he would find, <br />To be on hand for supper call. <br /> <br />A mute, inglorious Einstein he, <br />A rocking-chair philosopher; <br />I often wondered what, maybe, <br />His mighty meditations were. <br />No weighty work he left behind, <br />No words of wisdom or of wit; <br />Yet how I see him in my mind <br />Snap on his galusus and spit.<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-thinker-2/
