Down at the corner barroom
The fellows gibe and jest
For their homelife is too common,
Too vulgar for their taste.
So, when between their teeth
A tussle comes in view,
Each little snip of gossip
Is worth a month of chew.
Should any of their number
Admire a winsome dame,
Hi-ho, it’s off to the sporting
And fast into the game.
They say she is a swimmer
Of Olympian behest;
Why sure, how else could she have
Developed such a - chest?
I wonder, would it tingle
Her ears if she ever knew
How, from that quick and single
Glance, her statistics grew?
And how they tease and kid him
Until his face is scarlet,
And how they gibe an bid him
Woo this pretty starlet.
They have him roped and haltered,
And they almost have him hitched;
I’m sure it’s common knowledge,
So it wasn’t me who snitched.
Why should we spoil their jolly fun
By being too concise,
So we’ll neglect to point out
That she is another’s wife.
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Comments about this poem (IDLE FOLLY by Adeline Foster )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(August 5, 1934)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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