Her smile was shaped like other smiles —
The Dimples ran along —
And still it hurt you, as some Bird
Did hoist herself, to sing,
Then recollect a Ball, she got —
And hold upon the Twig,
Convulsive, while the Music broke —
Like Beads — among the Bog —
-
-
If Nature smiles — the Mother must
I'm sure, at many a whim
Of Her eccentric Family —
Is She so much to blame?