The woman wore a worried look, Her brow was creased with care, The chemist’s store by storm she took And hailed a salesman there. “O Sir,” she said, “I’m ill with dread, My child will die, I’m sure; With croup he’s sick, please serve me quick With Wood’s Great Peppermint Cure.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZT19190508.2.63.1
Bibliographic details
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New Zealand Tablet, 8 May 1919, Page 33
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51Page 33 Advertisement 1 New Zealand Tablet, 8 May 1919, Page 33
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