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Title: Ballade To A Lady
Author: Franklin P. Adams [
More Titles by Adams]
(To Annabelle.)
Pipe to the tip I'm handing, Kid;
Get jerry to the salve I throw;
Just paste it in your merrywid
While I pull out the tremolo.
This stuff ain't any paper snow--
I never was a bull con gee--
Wise up to this and sing it slow:
You make an awful splash with me.
My line of bunk is like to skid;
(The subject is so smooth--get joe?)
My fountain pen's an invalid;
I can't dope words like L. Defoe
Puts in describing up a show,
But, kiddo, you have put the bee
On father, surest thing you know.
You make an awful splash with me.
Yop, I'm your little katydid;
Just listen to my chirp of woe;
And now I've made my little bid--
You get it? Follow me? Right-O!
If I could shoot like Eddie Poe,
I guess that you'd be h-e-p,
But here's the bet, now cop it, bo,
You make an awful splash with me.
L'ENVOI
Well, this is where the stuff I stow,
According to old Francois V;
But--once again before I blow--
You make an awful splash with me.
[The end]
Franklin P. Adams's poem: Ballade To A Lady
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