Margretta Scott

From “Side-lights on War”

FOR three years she had been the belle of her town.

Always she was dated up for weeks ahead;

Always she wore flowers and fraternity pins

And rings and bangles

That men had given her.

She was the most rushed at all the dances,

Her telephone rang the oftenest,

The postman brought her the most letters.

The picture shows, the drug stores, knew her.

On summer nights her hammock swung gently;

On winter nights the lamps were low in her parlor.

As a man gambles,

She flirted.

Then War came;

And as a strong wind sweeps the street of dead leaves,

The town was swept of men.

There were no telephone calls and no flowers;

The hammock was still, the lamps turned-low had no meaning.

She couldn’t compete with her rival—

She couldn’t compete with War.