Of Salvadore the Celery King I sing.

    Illiterate¹ in Lewiston， he'd wander，

    so I'm told， into the ladies' john

    and， barring ladies， not suspect a thing.

    But when it came to celery， he was king.

    And when he died， the Idaho Daily Sun

    said： Salvadore the Celery King Moves On.

    The celery hung its head， remembering.

    Sometimes I think I'll wind down Lewiston Hill

    （where winding² up and winding down's the same

    except for purpose）， enter past the mill

    and， turning to face the crowd， announce my name：

    "Gary， son of Dom the son of Salvadore

    the King， whose throne I've come to claim."