Your proportions to describe,
Briefly, Myrtie, your dimensions
Do not seem to jibe.

Farewell, Myrt, for Ethelisa
Seems to be my certain fate,
Stupid? Silly? Sure, but she's a
Perfect thirty-eight.



An Ultimatum to Myrtilla

(Inspired by the shameless styles in hair.)


Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said--
And your tone was earnest, very--
You would never deck your head
With this vernal millinery.

Myrt, to mince no words, you lied;
Oh, that I should live to know it!
You that are my nearly-bride;
I that am your nearly-poet!

For I saw the awful lid
You had on at 10 this morning;
Myrt, it was a merrywid,
Spite of my decisive warning.