A
vinegar valentine aimed at printers.
Printer
Lead-colored claws, tobacco-stained jaws,
Wretched Typo, you cram up your stick,
Drunk today to your sorrow, half sober tomorrow,
And then swear you're a regular "brick."
Your foreman condemns how you count up your "ems,"
How you "sub" it at half-price he likes,
But the editor only, at his desk groaning lonely,
Damns you and your interminable "strikes."