When Rome fell to the Visigoths, the fate of hats was dealt
A fatal blow, since nobody was left who could make felt.
You may think this fantasy, but I assure you that
All of Europe suffered underneath the frail straw hat.
Rain and snow and sleet combined to turn it into mush.
It turned out to be brittle, and was so easy to crush.
'Tis said that good Saint Clement, on a pious walk one day,
Grew tired of his wooden shoes, which he had stuffed with hay.
Instead he spread some rabbit's fur inside his soggy clogs,
And then he set out steadily across the Grampian Bogs.
When his trip was over he removed his clogs to find
The rabbit's fur – eureka! – had mysteriously combined.
He had a pad of purest felt – the knowledge soon was out;
And hatters once again produced fine tops that had some clout.
So whether it's a Trilby or a Stetson you prefer,
Remember it's Saint Clement who transformed the rabbit's fur.
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