The Hospital Waiting-Room

We wait our turn, as still as mice,

For medicine free, and free advice:

Two mothers, and their little girls

So small-each one with flaxen curls-

And I myself, the last to come.

Now as I enter that bare room,

I was not seen or heard; for both

The mothers-one in finest cloth,

With velvet blouse and crochered lace,

Lips painted red, and powdered face;

The other ragged, whose  face took

Its own dull, white, and wormy look-

Exchanged a hard and bitter stare.

And both the children, sitting there,

Taking example from that sight,

Made ugly faces, full of spite.

This woman said, though not a word

From her red painted lips was heard-

“Why have I come to this, to be

In such a slattern’s company?”

The ragged woman’s look replied-

“If you can dress with so much pride,

why are you here, so neat, and nice,

for medicine free, and free advice?”

and I, who needed richer food,

not medicine, to help my blood;

who could have swallowed then a horse,

and chased its rider round the course,

sat looking on , ashamed, perplexed,

until a welcome voice cried-“Next!”