Or when I have recaptured some lost glow,
You stand, in your slim fragrant English grace,
With blue insistent eye that seeks for mine,
And once secures it, will not let it go.
"He sent three cans of soup instead of two."
And with meticulous domestic pride you add,
With clear important air, what he and you
Each said . . . And then, "The chicken, dear, will do
Tomorrow . . . or oyster wouldn't be so bad?"
And still I keep the tom-tom of the strain___
And does my face grow tragic as I clutch
The vanishing of its lost silver grace?
Perhaps not, for . . . "Don't think about it," such
Insistent kindly patience on your face.
__Margaret E. Haughawout.
Margaret E. Haughawout
(Pittsburg, Kansas: __. 1929)