THE CERTAINTY.

Observer, Volume XXXVI, Issue 38, 27 May 1916, Page 22

THE CERTAINTY.

She has left ne, our Gwendoline Renee; The kitchen is shrouded in gloom. No longer our wee little tweenie Parades with her duster and 'broom. No more will she rush in at break- ' fast, Regardless of feet or of legs. And imperil our peace with libations of grease Poured out from the bacon and eggs. .... She's departed, and left us lamenting Our crockery, hopelessly crocked; Our china, in need of cementing; Our dishes most dolefully dockod. A crippled collection of glasses Bears witness of Gwendoline's touch, And our cherished carafes are the victims of strafes, And marked -with the Gwendoline clutch. At her touch our choice Dresden would crumble, Our Derby would tremble to sand: Her glance caused the tumblers to tumble, While plates flew apart in her hand. And now she is making munitions With iron and steel 'neath her spell, But I bet she'll come back, when they give her the sack For cracking a fourteen-ineh shell. C.W.C.