I shall write a little poem
To my daughter, Sandra Jean,
And she can have the fattish meat,
And I shall eat the lean;
And she has cutish little dimples
Just above her chin;
And a great lacunae
Where her brain has bin.
Sometimes, it seems, I must confess,
That she is smart in school;
And yet at home, full all the time,
I think she is a drool.
…
Love the little pot I oughtter–
After all, she IS my daughter.
by Ray Romine Friday, September 1, 1944
