27 NOVEMBER 1926, Page 13

Poetry

To Theodora

ALTHOUGH I know you're dead, I can't believe it, It seems so silly that you had to go ;

The world was beautiful, how could you leave it ? You can't be dead because I miss you so.

The foolish jokes we had with one another, The things at which we laughed, we knew not. why, The old allusions that I now must smother, Because there's no one there to catch my eye.

The comic pictures that we drew together, The plays, impromptu, that we used to do, You wore a Homburg with an ostrich feather And I played heroine and villain too.

The triple rhymes that we were always seeking The parodies we used to write in bed, The wirelessed thought that passed too quick for speaking My dear, I can't believe that you are dead.

BETTY ASKWITH.