ITS eyes are gray; Its hair is either brown Or black; And, strange to say, Its dresses button down The back! It wears a plume That loves to frisk around My ear. It crowds the room With cushions in a mound And queer Old rugs and lamps In corners a la Turque And things. It steals my stamps, And when I want to work It sings! It rides and skates -- But then it comes and fills My walls With plaques and plates And keeps me paying bills And calls. It's firm; and if I should my many woes Deplore, 'Twould only sniff And perk its little nose Some more. It's bright, though small; Its name, you may have guessed, Is "Wife." But, after all, It gives a wondrous zest To life! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MR. THOMAS SOUTHERNE, ON HIS BIRTHDAY, 1742 by ALEXANDER POPE MY BEAUTIFUL LADY by THOMAS WOOLNER TO A THESAURUS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE FROGS: AN 'AESCHYLEAN' CHORUS by ARISTOPHANES JAPANESE MAPLES by JENNIE SCOTT ARNOLD SCHUBERT'S (UNFINISHED) SYMPHONY by FRANCES BARTLETT THE VALLEY OF FERN: PART 2 by BERNARD BARTON |