Rolling and unrolling,
Stretching far and wide.
I can tell you a man's height,
Just by looking at his stride.
With a lens,
And down on the ground,
Seeking the smallest detail,
For Mr. Holmes, the clue I've found.
I'm long and thin, and made of clay,
With a little bowl at the end,
You see, my dear reader,
I'm Mr. Holmes best friend.
When his chances are growing slim,
And he's out upon the trail.
We are there beside him,
And we know he will prevail.