4 MARCH 1955, Page 22

All the world's wet-nurse, was her fate. Men nestled, childlike,

to her heart. They wept when she refused her bed.

Leeches, they swelled on what they ate. She, weakening, knew it time to part. They loved her, worshipped her, they said.

Too kind, she left their weaning late.

But when she felt their teething start, 4 Pap with a hatchet saved her head.

Fledged weather-cocks, they turned to hate. When the wind dropped they felt less smart. They ran to someone else instead.

She loved once. Her prospective mate Followed the usual feeding chart, Fed where his children should have fed.

She married her invertebrate.

She hoped to raise him by some art. I met her yesterday, quite dead.