The Pin

“Dear me! what signifies a pin!

I’ll leave it on the floor;

My pincushion has others in, Mamma has plenty more:

A miser will I never be,” Said little heedless Emily.

So tripping on to giddy play, She left the pin behind,

For Betty’s broom to whisk away,

Or some one else to find;

She never gave a thought, indeed,

To what she might to-morrow need.

Next day a party was to ride,

To see an air-balloon!

And all the company beside Were dress’d and ready soon:

But she, poor girl, she could not stir,

For just a pin to finish her.

‘Twas vainly now, with eye and hand, She did to search begin;

There was not one­not one, the band Of her pelisse to pin!

She cut her pincushion in two,

But not a pin had slidden through!

At last, as hunting on the floor,

Over a crack she lay,

The carriage rattled to the door,

Then rattled fast away.

Poor Emily! she was not in,

For want of just­a single pin!

There’s hardly anything so small,

So trifling or so mean,

That we may never want at all,

For service unforseen:

And those who venture wilful waste,

May woeful want expect to taste. ~