Quick, Gents!
At sixteen, risque,
Likes a naughty joke;
At seventeen, blase,
Tries to learn to smoke;
At eighteen, mildish,
Jolly just the same;
At nineteen, childish,
Getting rather tame;
At twenty, breezy,
Merely debonair;
At twenty-one, uneasy;
So re-bobs her hair;
But when she reaches twenty-two
Her rush turns to a shove,
For then her motto has become:
Love and let love.
* * *
Wanted: Man with ugly face to frighten children that play in my yard.
* * *