Poems and Songs


Matilda made such dreadful prints,

In spite of all our help and  hints,

We feared her monthly tries might send

Unwitting judges round the bend.

Her focusing was just a guess,

Her negatives a dusty mess,

She never made a trial strip

But pressed the switch and let it rip.

She dunked the prints in stone-cold brew,

Then stuck them to a board with glue,

And worst of all, you must agree

She paid no heed to G D C.

What, readers, would you judge the fate,

Deserved by such a reprobate?

What punishment would you impose

On one committing crimes like those?

The Council pondered retribution,

And came up with the one solution

The wretch, at last, deserves your pity.

They put her on the House Committee




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