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Poem	The meal was o'er, the lamp was lit, The family sat in its glow; The Mother never ceased to knit, The Daughter never slacked to sew; The Father read his evening news, The Son was playing solitaire: If peace a happy home could choose I'm sure you'd swear that it was there. BUT The Mother: "Ah me! this hard lump in my breast . . . Old Doctor Brown I went to see; Because it don't give me no rest, He fears it may malignant be. To operate it might be well, And keep the evil of awhile; But oh the folks I dare not tell, And so I sit and knit and smile." The Father: "The mortgage on the house is due, My bank account is overdrawn; I'm at my wits end what to do - I've plunged, but now my hope is gone. For coverage my brokers call, But I'm so deeply in the red . . . If ever I should lose my all, I'll put a bullet in my head." The Daughter: "To smile I do the best I can, But it's so hard to act up gay. My lover is a married man, And now his child is on the way. My plight I cannot long conceal, And though I bear their bitter blame, Unto my dears I must reveal My sin, my sorrow and my shame." The Son: "Being a teller in a Bank I'd no right in a blackjack game. But for my ruin I must thank My folly for a floozie dame. To face the Manager I quail; If he should check my cash I'm sunk . . . Before they throw me into gaol I guess I'd better do a bunk." So sat they in the Winter eve In sweet serenity becalmed, So peaceful you could scarce believe They shared the torments of the damned . . . Yet there the Mother smiles and knits; The Daughter sews white underwear; The Father reads and smokes and spits, While Sonny Boy plays solitaire.
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