Читать книгу The So-called Human Race - Bert Leston Taylor - Страница 14

Where ’Vangie lies strown folios

Like Vallambrosan leaves repose,

The sad, the blithe, the quaint, the queer,

The good, the punk are scattered here—

A pile of poof in verse and prose.

And none would guess, save him who strows,

How much transcendent genius goes

Unwept, unknown, into the smear

Where ’Vangie lies.

With every opening mail it snows

Till ’Vangie’s covered to her nose.

Forgetting that she is so near,

I sometimes kick her in the ear.

Then sundry piteous ba-a-a’s disclose

Where ’Vangie lies.

“This sale,” advertises a candid clothier, “lasts only so long as the goods last, and that won’t be very long.”