Sing not a song of love to me,
And still less one of babies;
That wheeze, “To be, or not to be”
No longer is a mysteree:
Poor Hamlet must’ve been a dad–
You think that’s good? I think it’s bad–
I’d rather have the rabies.
But since you’re young, and WON’T be told,
Before full many a year hence,
You’ll be a “VERY PROUD” Pa-PA–
You say that’s good? I say “Ha-HA!”
For then without a doubt you’ll find
(A little late to change your mind)
How FINAL is EXPER-YENCE!
Written at breakfast…
by Ray Romine Saturday, May 8, 1943
