ISSUE: Summer 1925
She must amuse whoever comes her way
In the tiled palace where she plays the Fool
To all coarse lords who bring their bit of pay.
She sits and bravely smirks upon her stool,
While old men lean their legs against her knee
And fat ones give her hand a crude caress.
Poor Fool, she sometimes thinks how merrily
She took her bells and left a gingham dress.
