A PRACTICAL WOMAN

“O who’ll get me a healthy child -

I should prefer a son -

Seven have I had in thirteen years,

Sickly every one!

“Three mope about as feeble shapes;

Weak; white; they’ll be no good.

One came deformed; an idiot next;

And two are crass as wood.

“I purpose one not only sound

In flesh, but bright in mind;

And duly for producing him

A means I’ve now to find.”

She went away. She disappeared,

Years, years. Then back she came;

In her hand was a blooming boy

Mentally and in frame.

“I found a father at last who’d suit

The purpose in my head,

And used him till he’s done his job,”

Was all thereon she said.  

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