When Marjorie Passes By

When Marjorie’s skirts blow all awry

     With a dash of the summer wind,

I do my best – tho’ a hardlike test,

     To be for the moment blind.

“An ill wind it is that blows no good

     To anyone,” I recall,

But the wind that flirts with Marjorie’s skirts

     Is an ill wind, not at all.

O no! then blow ye whispering breeze,

     With Marjorie’s ruffles play;

For who could suppose such dainty hose

     Were meant to be hidden away.

Then blow when Marjorie passes by,

     Blow hard as ever you will,

For the wind that flirts with Marjorie’s skirts,

     Could never, no never be ill.

Nov. 6, ‘99