the next time she comes to the door

When I saw her face I thought she would whine But she did not grouse a bit this time This was one of her tattling-feasts. This annoyed me beyond Golem’s beasts. I detest tattling more than gossip I know now. Her attitude is dour, her face a big bow-wow. The next time she comes to my door, I will not be home. I will be drinking my tea, under the window, writing a poem