Alistair Cholmondeley Ethelred Smith Has a mouthful of names And a pocketful of keys On a big steel ring. He has car keys and house keys And padlock keys and suitcase keys And mortice keys and Yale keys And Union keys and Chubb keys. He has bright keys and dull keys, Big keys and small keys, But None of the keys will fit any locks That Alistair knows. When anyone knocks His head and says "I've lost my key" Alistair brightens and says "I'll see If any of mine will fit" and goes Through every key on his ring. He knows In his heart of hearts that none will fit But longs for the day when he'll shout "That's it!" And proudly throw open the unlocked door And hear the admiring people roar "There's Alistair Cholmondeley Ethelred Smith A lad you can trust to do anything with An unlockable lock." ______This poem's stuck. I've rattled it, kicked it, oiled its hinges, Kicked it, tackled it with hammers, screwdrivers, Paperclips, hairpins, chainsaws and cajoling, Curses, spells and incantations. Nothing will make it budge half an inch. There's only one thing if I want to finish it, Sand it and smooth it, unlock its secrets, And that's to call on the name of fame, The man of the hour, The one with the power, Shout so his name resounds in the air, Here it goes: "Hey, Alistair!"