Collected Poems

The Hon. Mrs Tweedscantie

The Hon. Mrs Tweedscantie

Her bridge? Gad, sir, rotten.
Her golf? Best forgotten.
Her fishing? Well, frantic.
Her hunting? An antic.
Her shooting? Oh, nervy.
Her archery? Scurvy.
Her billiards? Just pokey
But crikey, her croquet!