The poem
Of all the men I ever knew The tinkingest was Uncle Jim; If there were any chores to do We couldn't figure much on him. He'd have a thinking job on hand, And on the rocking-chair he'd sit, And think and think to beat the band, And snap his galusus and spit.
We kids regarded him with awe - His beard browned by tobacco stains, His hayseed had of faded straw The covered such a bunch of brains. When some big problem claimed his mind He'd wrestle with it for a fall; But some solution he would find, To be on hand for supper call.
A mute, inglorious Einstein he, A rocking-chair philosopher; I often wondered what, maybe, His mighty meditations were. No weighty work he left behind, No words of wisdom or of wit; Yet how I see him in my mind Snap on his galusus and spit.