Somebody said he’d done it well, and ‘Presto!’ his head began to swell;
Bigger and bigger the poor thing grew. A wonder it didn’t split in two.
In size, a balloon could scarcely match it; it took a fishing-pole to scratch it.
But six and a half was the size of his hat, and it was big on his head at that.
“Good work” somebody chanced to say. And his chest grew as big as a load of hay.
About himself like a rooster he crowed; of his wonderful work he bragged and blowed.
He marched around with a peacock strut; gigantic to him was the figure he cut.
But he wore a very small sized suit, and loosely it hung on him to boot.
HE was the chap who made things hum! HE was the drumstick and the drum!
HE was the shirt front and the starch! HE was the keystone in the arch!
HE was the axis of the earth! Nothing existed before his birth!
But when he was off from work a day, nobody knew that he was away.
This is a fact that is sad to tell; it’s the empty head that’s bound to swell;
The ego-filled fellow soars to the skies, bursting like a bubble before your eyes.
A big man is humbled by honest praise. And tries to think of all the ways
To improve his work and do it well. But a little man starts of himself to yell!
Looking for Santa Clarita churches? Check out Heart of the Canyons.
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