DUST Agatha Morley all her life Grumbled at dust like a good wife. Dust on a table dust on a chair Dust on a mantel she couldn't bear. She forgave faults in man and child But a dusty shelf would set her wild She bore with sin without protest But dust thoughts preyed upon her rest. Agatha Morley is sleeping sound Six feet under the mouldy ground. Six feet under the earth she lies With dust at her feet and dust in her eyes.