Tender-heartedness, Harry Graham.

My dad would always giggle when he recited this to me and my sister. He had a couple of others too that were racier.

Billy, in one of his nice new sashes,
Fell in the fire and was burnt to ashes;
Now, although the room grows chilly,
I haven’t the heart to poke poor Billy.

— Harry Graham. The poem is called Tender-heartedness.

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