But when she turned on me, beneath the El,
Two level eyes, and asked me what I wished,
Her voice, unwavering, sounded like the bell
On cows in country lanes, and made me smell
The faint pink fragrance of the four-o'clocks
That stood beside my mother's milk-house door.
And I grabbed off my hat and made hot tracks
For Charlie's where I drank, amid their roar,
The deepest glass of Volstead beer they'd pour.
__Margaret E. Haughawout.
Margaret E. Haughawout
(Pittsburg, Kansas: __. 1929)