On peahens in public

There is a particular quality
To ladies of ‘the quality’ – who lisp.
It’s a highly peculiar thing,
A phenomenon, if you will –
But these women one meets
Through a twist of fate
Are frequently vile
And riddled with hate
For all those that they meet.
We lesser mortals – of doubtful morals
Provide much amusement for those
Glorious peahens, who
Drab in their mohairs, do
Choose to take offence
At the slightest of slights
And imagined slurs
Too much of his
What she views as hers.
I do not pretend to know
Why they upset me so.
If it has yet anything whatsoever
To do with their impediment
But nevertheless, I must confess:
These women have caused me no end of distress.
For perched upon their dignity
And sniffing with solemnity
They can spoil with great alacrity
And even a flourish of
Courageous snubbage:
Any social occasion.

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