“Is yours in poetry, Miss Larkin?” asked Marjorie. “Ours are.”
“Partly,” said Miss Larkin, smiling. “Your father is quite a poet, isn’t he?”
“He says he isn’t,” said Kitty; “but I think his verses are lovely. You read yours out first, Miss Larkin, and then we’ll read ours.”
So Miss Larkin began:
“Dear Miss Larkin, here we are
Seeming near, though really far.
Wondering how you get along
With those children, so headstrong.
Are your dark locks turning gray
With their worry day by day?