Whenever it is "three below"
I wish myself in Mexico
Or dancing with a Hottentot
Or anywhere where I am not!
Aftermath
After holiday food
I feel so hell-ry
I long to subsist On tea and cel'ry!
Moot Question
Why is it
When the wind blows
I get a red nose
Some gals get all dewy-eyed
And fresh . . . and sort of
"jeune fille"
You should see me!
Lunch Hour
The conversation murmurs in a steady "thrum"
With little quick arpeggios
Of treble laughter.
The tables are arranged
In precisely
The same order.
Nothing is changed
Save the day . . . and the year . . .
And the certain knowledge
You'll not be here!
Fair Warning
It may be wisdom, dearest man,
To subjugate me while you can.
Because some day I do intend
To seek the roadway's farthest end.
Witch
"I'll put a little 'hex' on you
To make your drinks a bitter brew
If you forget me!"
This, I vowed
And all you did
Was laugh aloud.
"Perched on an ice cube
In your glass
I'll scowl and say;
"A pretty pass!
To snatch a lady's heart … and run . . .
Egad! me lad! It isn't done!"
Silly of me, my Sweet, to taunt you
With childish threats of how I'd haunt you!
But still . . . I tell you, if I could
O darling heart . . . of course I would!