The fat round butter with the daisy on it,
The daisy that he would soon decapitate,
Looked over-salted, but then the bread was always
Doughy and void of flavour.
To-day the crust was black, as if the soot
Had fallen on a country thatch ... the marmalade,
Scotch and well streaked, smiled on in invitation.
“My headache’s better now. We won’t be late.
And Dr. Chitty’s preaching on Divorce.”