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...THE LEAK IN THE DIKE; A STORY OF HOLLAND by PHOEBE CARY THE BOUGH OF NONSENSE by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES SENCE YOU WENT AWAY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE ONE GRAY HAIR by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 15. ON DOMESTIC MANNERS (UNFINISHED) by MARK AKENSIDE A DAY: AN EPISTLE TO JOHN WILKES, OF AYLESBURY, ESQ. by JOHN ARMSTRONG CLIO, NINE ECLOGUES IN HONOUR OF NINE VIRTUES: APOLOGY TO CLEO by WILLIAM BASSE |