Three drunk halfling friends were debating,
What relative weight they were weighing,
The first grinned, "It's grand,"
"Shake my World's Smallest Hand,"
With a smugness his fellows found grating.

The second of three wilted sadly,
And clinging his little dreams madly,
He gazed down to his feet,
Where his pair tres petite,
Left him smiling and feeling less badly.

The last of the fellows in Actar,
Debating o'er whom was compact-er,
Thrust his hands in the air,
Un ivre debonnair,
Had declared himself Master Contractor.

The 'morrow found M.C. exultant,
After lunch with a Small-Hands Consultant,
Now his bright yellow badge,
Proclaims "World's Smallest Tadge"
The standard consultant resultant.


Penned by my hand on the 11th of Daedalan, in the year 639 AF.