The baker man was kneading dough
And whistling softly, sweet and lough.
Yet ever and anon he’d cough
As though his head were coming ough!
“My word!” sad he, “but this is rough;
This flour is simply awful stough!”
He punched and thumped it through and through,
As all good bakers always dough!
“I’d sooner drive,” said he, “a plough
Than be a baker, anyhough!”
Thus spake the baker kneading dough;
But don’t let on I told you sough!
W. T. Goodge (1862-1909)
(Copied from a book of Australian poetry of uncertain vintage. All spelling as per original.)