“They look a bit half-baked,” Selia remarked to Mr. Withersq and drew a frown from the teacher.
“Write me now a good poem to the bakers horse” shouted he from his littel platform tossing slates to Selia and Mr. Withersq and all present began to scribble and squeek on the slates at which the good teacher pluckt hairs from his beard and smiled in a nodding sort of way like a grandma. Selia and Harold gave a sorry look at each other not knowing how to put bakers horses into poetry and thinking up till then that poetry was all rich like creamy cakes with love and nobel roman deaths for the schools they had went to taught nothing else. So they dotted down a few words hoping to pass in the crush.
Selia wrote:—
Oh horse of the daily baker [32] ]
What brings bread,
I prefer your litel rolls
With hot butter.
Have you your blinkers
Because of a secret
Or to keep the oats ears from your wet eyes