90121: My Dearest Colin

My dearest Colin,
How glad I was to have your little letter,
To know your throat is really, truly better.
(My words, you see, are falling into verse-gear,
I hope it will not make you any worse, dear!)
About your new Bird's Egg Book worth six shillings
What can I say until myself I see it?
But now it's bought so dearly, so dearly
so dearly
O carefully use it!
Oh brown-paper-bind it!
Or you'll certainly lose it,
Yes, and I'll find it!
(Oh really!
Oh really!)
Then you'll see it never more
So don't you leave it on the floor!
(D'you hear me,
D'you hear me?)
Now let me tell you something of my doings---
We all went out to tea last night to Painter's
And played a game I know you'd like to play at:
We shot an air-gun at a target on their door
And even Vera did her level best to score.
Hence excepting Auntie (for such sports too aged)
We might have been all Bis(i)ley engaged.
That afternoon we also saw the 'Pictures'.
The French boys always charm me, but the mixtures
Of Blood and Thunder Stories sometimes shock me.
How does Mary like her Book of Botany?
I wish I could find some Pheasant's Eggs or Partridges
To bring you; but I got you lots of empty cartridges.
'There was a boy so wondrous wise
He tried to see his nose
And turning inwards both his eyes
He now in glasses goes:---'
must now be changed to
'There is a boy of Shrewsbury
On whom all doctors dote,
He lets them take hot iodine
And burn out half his throat.'