A ray of sun strayed softly round, For something to caress, Until a resting place it found Of joy and thankfulness; 'Twas Minette, our Angora cat,

My Boss keeps sporty girls, they say; His belly’s big with cheer. He squanders in a single day What I make in a year. For I must toil with bloody sweat,

To smite Apollo’s lyre I am unable; Of loveliness, alas! I cannot sing. My lot it i, across the tavern table, To start a chorus to the strumming strin… I have no gift to touch your heart to pi…

Before the florid portico I watched the gamblers come and go, While by me on a bench there sat A female in a faded hat; A shabby, shrinking, crumpled creature,

From out her shabby rain—coat pocket The little Jew girl in the train Produced a dinted silver locket With pasted in it portraits twain. “These are my parents, sir” she said;

Strip Teaser My precious grand—child, aged two, Is eager to unlace one shoe, And then the other; Her cotton socks she’ll deftly doff

I am a stout materialist; With abstract terms I can’t agree, And so I’ve made a little list Of words that don’t make sense to me. To fool my reason I refuse,

Because I’ve eighty years and odd, And darkling is my day, I now prepare to meet my God, And for forgiveness pray. Not for salvation is my plea,

I haled me a woman from the street, Shameless, but, oh, so fair! I bade her sit in the model’s seat And I painted her sitting there. I hid all trace of her heart unclean;

My Muse is simple,—yet it’s nice To think you don’t need to think twice On words I write. I reckon I’ve a common touch And if you say I cuss too much

Italian people peaceful are,— Let it be to their credit. They mostly fail to win a war, —Oh they themselves have said it. “Allergic we to lethal guns

Because I was a woman lone And had of friends so few, I made two little ones my own, Whose parents no one knew; Unwanted foundlings of the night,

Gas got me in the first World War, And all my mates at rest are laid. I felt I might survive them for I am a gardener by trade. My life is in the open air,

'A shilling’s worth of quinine, please,' The customer demanded. The druggist went down on his knees And from a cupboard handed The waiting man a tiny flask: