  She ate her oat-cake by the fire, Her bath was done and dried her hair, Her nightgown was her sole attire, Her towel steamed across a chair. And as the oat-cake contour grew Eroded as a tide-worn cape, She named the jagged residue After the beast most like its shape. “This is a pig, a growly bear, A baa-sheep” (and she bit him)—thus Her speech flowed on, to my despair Incredibly carnivorous. At last, all wreathed in drowsy smiles, She munched the final gee-gee’s head— “Ah, Betsey, what would Eustace Miles, And what would Bernard Shaw have said?” |
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