When Argument became a bore,
Of saying what she had to say
And disappearing through the Floor,
A joke that never failed to cause
A weird, if not side-splitting, Pause.
At meals, if there appeared a dish
God-mamma did not find appealing,
She’d wave her wand, and Fowl or Fish
Would promptly vanish thro’ the ceiling,
And in its place would be Fried Mole