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The Umpire's Home

Where does an umpire live? You ask me that?
Come, I will take you to an umpire's flat.
Ah! Here we are! 'Tis five flights up, behind;
Umpires are used to hiding--they don't mind.
This is the entrance. It's a bachelor's den,
For umpires aren't often married men.
The owner's not at home, but come with me;
I know him well and have an extra key.

This is the library; note well the books,
Dingy and dismal, like the umpire's looks.
"Lives of the Martyrs," "The Deserted Home,"
"Dante's Inferno," "Rise and Fall of Rome."
"Paradise Lost," "The Sinking of the Maine,"
"Ballad of Reading Gaol," and "Souls in Pain."
"The Death of Joan of Arc," "The Convict's Woe,"
And all the works of Edgar Allen Poe.

This is the dining room, all done in black,
With rugs of drab and tapestries of sack
Notice the mottoes on the gloomy walls:
"Drink to the countless strikes that I called balls,"
"A toast to all the close ones that I miss,"
"A curse upon the man who loves to hiss!"
Where does an umpire live? You ask me that?
Well, I have shown you through an umpire's flat.

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