MAY, FROM MY WINDOW
BY FRANCES ROSE BENÉT
A SPARKLING morning after weeks of rain;
All fresh and fragrant glows my world, new-made.
Bluebirds sing ballads; sparrows chirp refrain;
Old Mother Spider, peering from the shade,
With gastronomic joy surveys a fly,
Her table-cloth hung on a bush to dry.
A little lizard creeps from out his crack
To bask in sunshine till he’s done quite brown;
A butterfly starts on her breathless track,
Her errand gay, to lure a lad from town;
Even the garden’s foe, the slimy snail,
Leaves on the walk an iridescent trail.
Fat Doctor Robin now comes hurrying by,
His neat attire touched up with claret vest.
“Important case!” I see it in his eye.
“No time to sing, with babies in that nest.”
Quick! little doctor! Will he catch the train?
Sudden he stops; my heart jumps to my throat.
“Thunder and Mars!” I hear him say quite plain,
“I’ve left my wallet in my other coat!”
NOISE EXTRACTED WITHOUT PAIN
WAITER (to single gentleman):—“Excuse me, sir, but that lady and gentleman wish me to recommend
to you one of those new Maxim soup silencers!”