Fuess and Stearns, comps. The Little Book of Society Verse. 1922.
By. Mortimer CollinsMy Aunts Spectre
T
Imagine such a rum thing),
It is the phantom of my Aunt,
Who ran away—or something.
(My Aunt was most delightful).
It prowls about the corridors,
And utters noises frightful.
Behaving very coolly,
Our hearts all throb against our sides—
The lights are burning bluely.
Was the most charming vixen
That ever this poor sex of ours
Delighted to play tricks on.
In quaint old-fashioned bodice:
Her eyes are blue—her waist is small—
A ghost! Pooh, pooh,—a goddess!
My dear old father’s sister—
Lips softly curved, a dainty foot;
Happy the man that kissed her!
Over fair shoulders scattered—
Egad, she was a pretty girl,
Unless Sir Thomas flattered!
Could possibly expect her
To take to dissipated ways,
And plague us as a spectre?