Retrospect

She’s sweet, I declare, and she’s real debonair, And she just sort of has me “way up in the air!” There’s a touch of the gyp in her arch little eye, And the savor of health as she passes you by. Her hair is jet black; her look rings real true, And the tinge of her heart I am sure is true blue. I shall ever recall, if I live to four score, The impress she made on me, the old bore, As she sat on the stairs one night long ago, With a touch of the roguish, a wonderful glow In her exquisite eyes never equaled as yet. They’ve haunted me since and I’ll never forget That touch of the roguish, that wonderful glow In her exquisite eyes on that night long ago.