Mary, I sometimes think your eyes
Are brown as the spice on pumpkin pies;
And your hair, unless my eyes have lied,
Is the shade of a round steak rightly fried.
Your cheeks are peaches, paprika-dashed;
Your tears pure claret, spaghetti-lashed.
And your lone, slim self reminds me , too,
Of a deer, gazelle, or maybe gnu.
As you can gather, from all this bleat,
Mary, you’re nice enough to eat!
So , keep your T-bones and your hamburger–
Serve me up a Firstenberger!
P. S. . .
The 64-buck questjon, if you are wary ,
Is, who wrote this , and sent it, Mary????
(written at her mother’s request)
by Ray Romine Tuesday, November 8, 1949
