You’re the girl I dream of;
You are on my mind
Forty-seven more per cent
Than any other kind.
Every night and morning–
Sometimes through the day–
A Smallish Thought I spare you:
Sister, that ain’t hay.
True, instead of flowers,
I tote a bacon slab;
Gladiolas don’t tempt me
When food is there to grab.
I compliment your beauty
Several times a week.
I take your arm (to save me)
When traffic’s at its peak.
I admire the hats you bring home,
The dresses and the hose;
As for the quips you drag along,
I weakly smile at those.
Romantic, though, I may not be–
Affectionate no whit;
For we’ve been wed for ten long years:
I’ve gotten over it!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, September 1, 1943
