Our Next Move

She used to warble every night

     When she returned from town;

And though ‘twere summertime we had

     To put our windows down.

She was an operatic star,

     Though faintly did she shine;

And finally she went away,

     And peace once more was mine.

That was two months ago, and now

     Again we’re feeling glum;

Cheer up, kind friends, we promise you

     The worst is yet to come.

She’s had a dozen of her songs

     Put onto records; say!

Her folks have got a phonograph

     And play ‘em night and day.

Aug. 4, ‘09