Isis Town and Country - - Opinion - By NANCE BUR­NETT

Dainty wee one wait­ing there,

How you smoul­der, how you glare.

Come on now, you must be­have.

I, you know, am not your slave.

Jumping up and down with rage,

Tantrums, sulks, the lot you stage.

Danc­ing round and cir­cling wide, Stilted legs in slid­ing stride. Come now, we one, curb your wrath! Can I help if I must bath? What a silly place to spin Webs so fine (you might fall in). Dig­nity out­raged, you stalk Over floors with stilted walk: Daddy lon­glegs, puffed with pride,

Go where you be­long – out­side!

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