DEPARTURE
But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it’s little enough I care;
And it’s little I’d mind the fuss they’ll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.
“Is something the matter, dear” she said,
“That you sit at your work so silently?”
“No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle. I'll make the tea.”
18
