TEARS
Beads of perspiration on a hot summer's afternoon,
A hurry call from the Ritz,
Thoughts of plastering the city in half an hour,
With twenty-four sheets and large heralds,
And a page or two in all the dailies....
She sat in a sumptuous suite at the Ritz,
Discussing with her husband,
Who had just returned from the beagles in South Carolina
Her new pet charity;
And she had called me in at this very moment,
Because she had struck a snag.
This was her charity:
She related with tears in her eyes,
What was she to do about it?
She received no response from the American public.
The poor assistant stagehands of the Paris theatres
They were out of work—destitute—
The theatres closed—and all the actors at the front.
But what could be done for them, the poor Paris stagehands?
That was her query.
And tears welled up in her eyes, as she spoke
While her husband chased the Angora from under the sofa—
I sat and discussed the question.
And tears came to my eyes,
But my tears were wept for another reason.