Prose

Three Little Girls

Oh the father to be

Of daughters three

His pride knows not stopping

So sweet and fair

With curls in hair

And smiles which cost him a fortune

Batting their lash

They procure his cash

For a day-long spree of shopping

But with eyes a glare

And bristling hair

He’ll paw and take to snortin’

When sounds the knock

And from down the block

Prices three coming courtin’


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