Arthur Guiterman

Its eyes are gray;
        Its hair is either brown
                Or black;
And, strange to say,
        Its dresses button down
                The back!

It wears a plume
        That loves to frisk around
                My ear.
It crowds the room
        With cushions in a mound
                And queer

Old rugs and lamps
        In corners a la Turque
                And things.
It steals my stamps,
        And when I want to work
                It sings!

It rides and skates,
        But then it comes and fills
                My walls
With plaques and plates
        And keeps me paying bills
                And calls.

It's firm; and if
        I should my many woes
             ...

The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic Pup
Were playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;
They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised;
It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized.

They said it was a Microbe and a Hotbed of Disease;
They steamed it in a vapor of a thousand-odd degrees;
They froze it in a freezer that was cold as Banished Hope
And washed it in permanganate with carbolated soap.

In sulphureted hydrogen they steeped its wiggly ears;
They trimmed its frisky whiskers with a pair of hard-boiled shears;
They donned their rubber mittens and they took it by the hand
And 'lected it a member of the Fumigated Band.

There's not a Micrococcus in the garden where they play;
They bathe in pure iodoform a dozen times a day;
An...