POOR MABEL I worried about poor Mabel She’d seemed rather strange for a while To concentrate she’d been unable but sat with a permanent smile. I’d known her for many and many a day.
PANDORA’S BOX The men came in the early morn as I lay in my bed They took my son and handcuffed him. They battered his poor head They threw him in a prison van and then they drove away.
THE DAMASK ROSE Inside her Bible memories dwell Between the leaves: She only knows There lingers still the fragrant smell Of a single crushed white damask rose.