This is my dream,
It is my own dream,
I dreamt it.
I dreamt that my hair was kempt.
Then I dreamt that my true love u

Hypochondriacs
Spend the winter at the bottom of
the Adirondriacs.
You go to Paris and live on champ
If you’re dipsomognac.

There is a knocking in the skull,
An endless silent shout
Of something beating on a wall,
And crying, “Let me out!”
That solitary prisoner

Toward a better world I contribut
I eat the squab, lest it become a

Sure, deck your limbs in pants,
Yours are the limbs, my sweeting.
You look divine as you advance . .
Have you seen yourself retreating?

This one is entering her teens,
Ripe for sentimental scenes,
Has picked a gangling unripe male,
Sees herself in a bridal veil,
Presses lips and tosses head,

Behold the duck.
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks.
It quacks.
It is specially fond

I objurgate the centipede,
A bug we do not really need.
At sleepy-time he beats a path
Straight to the bedroom or the bat
You always wallop where he’s not,

More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United Sta
That’s how much I love you.
I love you more than a duck can sw

Being a father
Is quite a bother.
You are as free as air
With time to spare,
You’re a fiscal rocket