Thing there was none, said, thought or done,

But she must know it,

Nor any errand to be run

But she made us go it.

She with her anxious, watchful glance,

Blue under her glasses,

Was meat and drink and providence

To us five lasses.

Out she fetcht from hidden stores

White frocks for Sundays,

And always nice clean pinafores

Against school, Mondays.

[Pg 18]

She and Dad were little people,

But most of us were tall,

And I shot up like Chichester steeple;

Fan, she was small.

You never saw a kinder face

Or met with bluer eyes:

If ever there was a kissing-case

 Prev. P 20/82 next