L.W.
"TIME TURNS THE TABLES."
Ten years ago, when she was ten, I used to tease and scold her: I liked her, and she loved me then, A boy some five years older.
I liked her: she would fetch my book, Bring lunch to stream or thicket— Would oil my gun or bait my hook, And field for hours at cricket.
She'd mend my cap or find my whip— Ah! but boys' hearts are stony! I liked her rather less than "Gyp," And far less than my pony.
She loved me then, though Heaven knows why; Small wonder had she hated: For scores of dolls she had to cry Whom I decapitated.
I tore her frocks, I pulled her hair, Called "red" the sheen upon it: Out fishing I would even dare Catch tadpoles in her bonnet.
Well, now I expiate my crime: The Nemesis of fables Came after years. To-day old Time On me has turned the tables.