Foliage: Various Poems

MAD POLL

     There goes mad Poll, dressed in wild flowers,
       Poor, crazy Poll, now old and wan;
     Her hair all down, like any child:
       She swings her two arms like a man.

     Poor, crazy Poll is never sad,
       She never misses one that dies;
     When neighbours show their new-born babes,
       They seem familiar to her eyes.

     Her bonnet's always in her hand,
       Or on the ground, and lying near;
     She thinks it is a thing for play,
       Or pretty show, and not to wear.

     She gives the sick no sympathy,
       She never soothes a child that cries;
     She never whimpers, night or day,
       She makes no moans, she makes no sighs.

     She talks about some battle old,
       Fought many a day from yesterday;

       "Ha, ha!" Poll laughs, and skips away.