Edmund Vance Cooke (1866-1932 / USA)
A Courtin' Call
He dressed hisself from top ter toe
To beat the lates' fash'n.
He give his boots a extry glow,
His dicky glistered like the snow,
He slicked his hair exactly so,
An' all ter indicate 'his pash'n.'
He tried his hull three ties afore --
He kep' the one on that he wore.
All afternoon she laid abed
To make her featturs brighter.
She tried on ev'ry geoun she hed,
She rasped her nails until she bled,
A dozen times she frizzed her head
An' put on stuff to make her whiter,
An' fussed till she' d 'a' cried, she said,
But that 'ld make her eyes so red.
They sot together in the dark
'Ithout a light, excep' their spark,
An' neither could have told er guessed
What way the t'other un was dressed!
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