Mabel in her common gown, her common fawn-coloured
Norwich gown kept her secret tucked into her glove.
Mabel came team-handed. Able as she was, she didn’t
bleat. Camel meat on her table for her meal to eat,
she didn’t blame me. Her tame cat let it be.
We met her mate, Able by name who carried a mace and
took a cab to abet the rest, but was late. Mabel would
never amble when she met a man who made her melt. Meta,
in a lace and cable belt, leading a lamb in her lea,
beat with éclat and an elm bat at a beam… blam
bam! Mabel had to soothe with balm and ale after she
had paid the tab. She put on her camblet shawl and
went abroad.
A sorry tale.