I met her ‘neath the gas
jet dim,
And so of course I caught
Her in the good, old
fashioned way,
With but a happy thought.
“No mistletoe is there!”
she cried,
Holding one hand above,
In which I saw a spray of
that
Which Christmas lovers love.
She saw her plight, alas,
too late,
And blushed a charming red;
And so you see in place of
one
I captured two instead.
Joe Cone
Aug. 21, 1900
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