The Crumpled Dress Twas such a dainty dress! Just simple muslin, with a trailing spray Of roses dotted on it every way. No one would ever guess How pleased I was to buy the stuff, Because -ah me! -’twas long enough Since I had had a dress quite new: And something sweetly pretty too. Then, how I planned and schemed To get the time to put that frock together! No Princess ever dreamed Such tender dreams of jeweled crown Of silver shoes, or gold-spun gown In all its shimmering loveliness As I did...of that muslin dress. And then: The first time I wore it tiny Ben Leaned up against my arm in church, and s lept And crumpled it! And little Bessie crept Into my lap to rest her drowsy head, And as the Psalms were sung, the Lessons read, She sucked, and sucked, a little rosebud spray Till all its freshness vanished quite away. Coming back home, my seven-year-old, The frisky lamb of our small fold, Tripped at the stile -the careless elf!- Clutched at my frock to save himself. (Poor hand-stitched flounce!) With startled shout He ripped at least ten inches out, And now-alas! -my rosebud dress, Was shorn of all its daintiness. “Oh, what is the use for me to try, To be dainty and neat?” I said with a sigh. And, off and on, until night came down I mourned for my delicate rosebud gown: Then, Mrs. Perkins came! Kind Mrs. Perkins with her cheery air. She always is the same: Things never seem so bad when she is there. She is a listener never known to fail: So, out it tumbled, all the tiresome tale. Wise Mrs. Perkins sighed, and sympathized Before her tongue advised. Then, softly, suddenly, She laid a gentle hand upon my knee And, holding up the dress I so much prized: “Look at the little Love-marks here!” said she. (And oh, she smoothed the crumples tenderly,) “There’s many a woman, sick with loneliness Would give the world for such a crumpled dress. You wouldn’t like to be So spick and span, your darlings told each other: ‘We mustn’t go within ten yards of Mother!’” Then, clever Mrs. Perkins smiled, And added “Don’t you fret, my child. I wouldn’t worry if I were you, When soap and water can make it new. Nor grieve over anything, needle and thread Can make as good as ever,” she said. -submitted by Mary Ueland - Mansfield, MO YWSH Main Page