HER HAT
Oh, Kitty, she was sweet, the sweetest thing on feet,
If I could woo and win her my life would be complete:
I love her, oh, so dearly, but can never tell her that,
For I know I’d never suit a girl who’d wear such an awful hat.
When I look into her eyes I feel that she’s a prize,
But when she puts her hat on, and I gaze upon the size—
Although I love her dearly, it is forced upon me that
I’d never suit a girl who would wear such a hat.
To chat with her’s a treat; her figure’s trim and neat;
She is the idol of my heart, I could worship at her feet;
But, oh, her hat’s a nightmare, I can’t get away from that.
Real brain, I’m sure, cannot exist, ’neath such a crazy hat.
And so I curse my lot and wish that I was not
So soft about the heart, and that Kitty had no blot;
But what’s the use of fighting fate, my reason tells me that
The real soul of a woman’s indicated by her hat.