ON SUNDAYS.

A FRENCH MAID AND HER WORK ON SUNDAYS.

On Sundays Monsieur
Morse had all the family
Call: his sons, daughters

And their husbands and
Wives and little baby Cheri
And the dog that licked any

Thing that stood still long
Enough to be licked and
You waited on them and

Prepared the rooms and
Helped prepare lunch and
Took the coats and monsieur

Would say, Lulu, bring more
Bread or soup, or see how
Cheri has grown and you

Had to be very careful of
Monsieur Ancre, the horny
Husband of Marie, who if

He could would try to put
His hand beneath your skirt
Or touched your breast and

Madame Morse seeing you
Running along the corridor
Would say, Lulu this is no

Time for play or games there
Is much to do and where have
You put the new dress of mine

And why are you so flushed?
On Sundays you were worked
To the bone, but for all that,

After the bread and soup and
Finding of new dresses, you
Were permitted to sit at table

For a short while and become
Part of the family and watch
Monsieur Ancre gaze at you

With that bright twinkle in his
Eyes, thinking of the time he
Cornered you in the old guest

Room and kissed your lips and
Fondled your breasts until your
Face blushed red as a smacked

Arse and he had pinched your
Thigh as you tried to pass.