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68
General William Booth
THE POTATO'S DANCE
"DOWN cellar," said the cricket,
"I saw a ball last night
In honor of a lady
Whose wings were pearly-white.
The breath of bitter weather
Had smashed the cellar pane:
We entertained a drift of leaves
And then of snow and rain.
But we were dressed for winters
And loved to hear it blow
In honor of the lady
Who makes potatoes grow—
Our guest, the Irish lady,
The tiny Irish lady,
The fairy Irish lady
That makes potatoes grow.
"Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the band,
Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand:
