He sits upon the chimney-shelf,
His nose is in the air,
And people look at him and smile;
He seems so haughty all the while,
I hope he doesn't care.
He wears a little chain of gold.
The other day I found
There isn't any chain at all
Where he is turned towards the wall;
It doesn't go all round.
His spots are big and shining black,
His eyes are black as well;
I often think that he may mind
The way his chain leaves off behind,
But I shall never tell.
[Illustration: Color illustration featuring a man in an ornate turban,
green jacket, and red patterned trousers standing next to a headless
knight in blue armor whose floating head hovers nearby, against a
backdrop of a building and towers under a blue sky with clouds.]