They were fine, to be sure, but ’tis better at times
To write something new; on occasions like these
One should write on the spot of the thing that he sees.”
“For shame!” cried Neoma. She led him away
To help the poor “Oracle” scrub off the clay;
She rubbed him and scrubbed him and wheedled him ’round,
Till he said he was glad that he didn’t get drowned.
Now the house became flooded, and to the top floor
They were driven. In eddies the flood-waters tore
Around through the hall and the parlor below