Trusting little eyes of blue,
Pudgy hands–and gooey, too;
Little mouth that’s always yiping,
With a smile that’s needing wiping;
Darling, sniffly, runny nose;
Cutest (once-clean) well-cut clothes;
Little eyebrows, so well-loamed;
Yellow hair thats never combed;
Shapely ears, with remnants glued on
Of whatever last you chewed on;
How could you get any wetter?
(The less said here, perhaps, the better)
I’d trade you for a nice, clean Bison–
God, I’m glad you aren’t mison!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, October 15, 1946
