She ate her oat-cake by the fire,
Her bath was done and dried her hair,
Her nightgown was her sole attire,
Her towel steamed across a chair.
And as the oat-cake contour grew
Eroded as a tide-worn cape,
She named the jagged residue
After the beast most like its shape.
“This is a pig, a growly bear,
A baa-sheep” (and she bit him)—thus
Her speech flowed on, to my despair
Incredibly carnivorous.
At last, all wreathed in drowsy smiles,
She munched the final gee-gee’s head—
“Ah, Betsey, what would Eustace Miles,
And what would Bernard Shaw have said?”