human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of Harry Graham?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of Harry Graham:
  McLoughlin Bros
This talented Giraffe can play
In such a skillful, pleasing way,
That every one who hears agrees
So 'tis not strange at all that he
Should hold his head high, as you see.
Here's a Horse that is no shirker,
But a busy, willing worker,
For at the steaming washing-tub
All day, like this, 'twill stand and rub.
A Horse so good at washing clothes,
A clothes-horse might be called, I s'pose.
Three dogs went out for a promenade
All on a summer's day;
And little Doggie Tray.
And as they walked down the crowded street,
They were proud as proud could be,
For they were dressed in their very best,
As every one could see.
But a mischievous cat on the sidewalk stood,
No coat, no hat had she;
So she laughed at the dress and the pompousness
Of the dog and his family.
Mr. Dog growled deep, and sprang at the cat,
And chased her up and down,
With an angry cry, and a flashing eye,
Throughout the wondering town.
But he tripped in his haste against a stone,
And fell in the slippery street,
And when he arose, lo! his stylish clothes
Were mud from head to feet.
And Mrs. Dog, when she saw his plight,
With horror swooned away,
And sank right down, with her silken gown,
On a heap of soft red clay.
Wee Baby Dog was in sad distress;
He sought for his cap in vain;
His kilt was torn, he was all forlorn,
And his tears fell down like rain.
But the roguish cat at her fireside sat,
And thought of her fun that day;
And she jumped and danced, and purred and pranced,
At the doggies running away.
Two little pigs were in a pen;
One little pig ran away and then
Then there was only one!
One little pig to stay at home
One little pig that loved to roam--
Over the fields to run.
Both pig's tails were curled up tight,
One to the left, and one to the right;
Two little pigs in a pen!
Some of the time they would take their ease,
Up in a corner as snug as you please.
You should have seen them then.
One little pig that ran away--
The one with his tail to the left, they say--
Knew well it was not right
To go so far. He could not be found
Though his master searched the woods around;
And so he was out all night.
But when that pig came back--Oh! then
He wished that he had not left the pen.
How sorry he did feel!
For the master tied the naughty pig's leg,
With a good stout rope, to a good stout peg!
Oh! you should have heard him squeal.