My worldly wealth I hoard in albums three, My life collection of rare postage stamps; My room is cold and bare as you can see, My coat is old and shabby as a tramp's; Yet more to me than balances in banks, My albums three are worth a million francs. I keep them in that box beside my bed, For who would dream such treasures it could hold; But every day I take them out and spread Each page, to gloat like miser o'er his gold: Dearer to me than could be child or wife, I would defend them with my very life. They are my very life, for every night over my catalogues I pore and pore; I recognize rare items with delight, Nothing I read but philatelic lore; And when some specimen of choice I buy, In all the world there's none more glad than I. Behold my gem, my British penny black; To pay its price I starved myself a year; And many a night my dinner I would lack, But when I bought it, oh, what radiant cheer! Hitler made war that day - I did not care, So long as my collection h...
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