I have a secret servant
       (My rivals knew I must!)
A loyal thing, and fervent,
       A daemon I can trust.

He sits upon my shoulder,
       Has sat there many a year,
With age, he grows much bolder,
       And whispers in my ear.

And oftentime he’s jolly,
       Though if at all ignored
He urges me to folly
       To keep from growing bored.

And sometimes he’s indignant,
       Pretending then to weep,
And twice he’s grown malignant;
       More often, he’s asleep.

But when he senses danger,
       Or sniffs out easy meat,
God help the hapless stranger
       Who feigns to trick or treat!

He’ll take a prince’s ransom,
       And dice it — lose or win!
He’s small and dark and handsome;
       (He bid me put that in!)

His motto: ‘Faster, faster!
       No!  Take the other door!’
But which of us is master,
       I’ve never quite been sure.

Yet I’d not be without him,
       (Though daemons know no friend);
He tells me, (I don’t doubt him),
       He’ll be there — til the end.