|WILLOW'S MAGPIE No. 27|
Mrs. Babcock’s hydrangeas had all turned pink
In despair and fury she wept;
For several nights she didn’t sleep a wink
No iron her gardener kept.
Her much preferred hue
For hydrangeas was blue,
Whatever was she to do?
And then she saw them, at the back of the shed,
Some rusty pipes, quite flaky and red;
She scraped off the rust,
Collected the dust,
Which round the plants she spread.
Her hydrangeas all flourished,
With iron flakes nourished,
I will not be flouted, she said.