This is the month of the Zodiac
When I want a pretty deft-handed waitress.
Bring a china-bowl, you merry young soul;
Bring anything green, from worsted to celery;
Bring pure olive-oil from Italy’s soil—
Then your china-bowl we’ll well array.
When the time arrives chip choicest chives,
And administer quietly chili and capsicum—
Young girls do not quite know what’s what
’Till as a Poet into their laps I come).