She is standing in the doorway with her head of frowzy hair Waiting for some one who has said he'd soon be there; And her tired face grows brighter, her eyes lighten in a trice, As she hearsw the tottering footsteps of the man who brings the ice. F. B. S. |
Down in room number six, Afternoon, nearly three, The little clock ticks, We are still as we can be; But the silence is broken, With learning profound, We solve problems spoken Of "Mechanics" or "Sound." Then Miss Wilson makes us In the most quiet voice Which problem asks us. "Understand these all through Everyone? Camblin do you?" And Claude looks like a sheep, For he's been fast asleep. F. B. S. |
Copyright © 1996
The IAGenWeb Project
IAGenWeb Terms, Conditions
& Disclaimer