X



Three days with sad skidoo have came and went,
Yet Pansy cometh nix to ride with me.
I rubber vainly at the throng to see
Her golden locks - gee! such a discontent!
Perhaps she's beat it with some soapy gent -
Perhaps she's promised Gill the Grip to be
His No. 1 till Death tolls "23!"
While I am Outsky in the supplement.

Now and anon some Lizzie flags the train
And I, poor dots, cry, "Rapture, it is her!"
Yet guess again - my hope is all in vain
And Pansy girl refuses to occur.
If this keeps up I think I'll finish swell
Among the jabbers in a padded cell.