| Oh, father is a careless wight,
A sloven wight is he; He sat out in the yard one night Beneath the greenwood tree. And mother's feelings much were hurt, The family disgraced, For naught except an undershirt He wore above the waist. Sufficient collar wasn't there To hide his manly chest And something like an inch of hair Was showing on his breast. But father has no modesty, As you can plainly see, To clothe himself so scantily And sit beneath the tree. When sister, charming little elf, Sits out beneath the tree- Well, I'd incriminate myself To tell what you can see. To say her dress is much too low As well as much too high Is quite a paradox, I know, And may sound like a lie. The hem is just about so high And flaps her knees about, Her bodice proves an alibi And leaves her thorax out; And when upon parade she goes Along the village street She has to walk upon her toes Instead of on her feet. But mother, while she does her bit As keeper of the flock, Is never known to throw a fit Because of sister's frock. |
Verdigris Valley Verse
Albert Stroud
(Coffeyville, Kansas: The Journal Press. 1917)
Page 52
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