Past, Present and Future
You’ve heard the tale of Daphne of a hundred years ago?
You haven’t? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s a thing you ought to know.
Though pretty smart at most things (for her age was seventeen)
She didn’t know the proper way to wear a crinoline.
For instance, when the winter winds came tearing through the town
She made the most ridiculous attempts to hold it down;
And thus it was that often as she tacked across the street
The people got a view of her that wasn’t only feet.
You’ve heard, of course, the story of the Daphne of today?
You haven’t? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s funny in a way.
In spite of all the teachings of the Grundies and the Prims,
She hasn’t yet discovered how to cover up her limbs.
For instance, though the crinoline perplexes her no more,
She’s in the same predicament, precisely, as before.
And when she’s sprinting for a bus, with little time to lose,
The people get a view of her that isn’t only shoes.
I hate, of course, to moralize, to lecture or to prate,
But troubles have their ending if the troubled only wait;
And probably, if Daphne’s good, and patient as a saint,
The skirt will pass to savages, and she will have their paint;
And that will keep its proper place, whate’er her attitude,
And satisfy the conscience of the most exacting prude—
Unless a rainstorm comes along that nothing does by halves,
And then we’ll get a view of her that won’t be only calves!
—A. B. M.
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