ae S.

] wisH that we could paint, Pussy,
Pictures that look true,

And not the horrid smudgy things
I sometimes show to you;

Bad as they are, though, Pussy, dear,

They’re more than you can do.

I wish that we could sing,
Pussy,

Could sing a whole song
through,

Not little, funny, purry songs,

Like those I hear from
you ;
But funny as your singing is,
It’s more than J could
do.

     

I wish that we could work, Pussy,
Like Dad and Mammy, too, |

Then they might sometimes rest an
As we do, I and you.

But useful, helpful things, Pussy,
Are more than we can do!

‘Edith Bland.