TOOLS GET MIXED Winnie Rose My friend and I a fishin’ went, And hours of joy and fun we spent. The fish did not cooperate, Even with all kinds of bait. The few we caught, at once we fixed, In some queer way, our tools got mixed, But I came out on top you see-- The best of knives was left to me! At once, I should have told my friend, Returned the knife she did not lend, But it was one that cut so well-- In spite of all, I did not tell! Now every time this knife I use, My conscience does my heart accuse, So I return this cutting tool, At last I keep the “Golden Rule”. And now when ‘ere a fish I clean, I’ll think of you and not feel mean, With my dull knife I’ll saw and spear, All happy now with conscience clear.