Her Hat

Oh, Kitty, she was sweet, the sweetest thing on feet, If I could woo and win her my life would be complete: I love her, oh, so dearly, but can never tell her that, For I know I’d never suit a girl who’d wear such an awful hat.

When I look into her eyes I feel that she’s a prize, But when she puts her hat on, and I gaze upon the size-- Although I love her dearly, it is forced upon me that I’d never suit a girl who would wear such a hat.

To chat with her’s a treat; her figure’s trim and neat; She is the idol of my heart, I could worship at her feet; But, oh, her hat’s a nightmare, I can’t get away from that. Real brain, I’m sure, cannot exist, ’neath such a crazy hat.

And so I curse my lot and wish that I was not So soft about the heart, and that Kitty had no blot; But what’s the use of fighting fate, my reason tells me that The real soul of a woman’s indicated by her hat.