Here you will find the Poem The Crooked Stick of poet Elinor Morton Wylie
First Traveller: What's that lying in the dust? Second Traveller: A crooked stick. First Traveller: What's it worth, if you can trust to arithmetic? Second Traveller: Isn't this a riddle? First Traveller: No, a trick. Second Traveller:It's worthless, leave it where it lies. First Traveller: Wait; count ten; Rub a little dust upon your eyes; Now, look again. Second Traveller: Well, and what the devil is it, then? First Traveller: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know. Second Traveller: Someone's loss! First Traveller: Bend it, and you make of it a bow. Break it, a cross. Second Traveller: But it's all grown over with moss!