A PIN.

Oh, I know a certain lady who is reckoned with the good,

Yet she fills me with more terror than a raging lion would.

The little chills run up and down my spine whene’ er we meet,

Though she seems a gentle creature, and she’ s very trim and neat.

And she has a thousand virtues and not one acknowledged sin,

But she is the sort of person you could liken to a pin.

And she pricks you and she sticks you in a way that can’ t be said.

If you seek for what has hurt you — why, you cannot find the head!

But she fills you with discomfort and exasperating pain.

If anybody asks you why, you really can’ t explain!

A pin is such a tiny thing, of that there is no doubt,

Yet when it’ s sticking in your flesh you’ re wretched till it’ s out.

She is wonderfully observing — when she meets a pretty girl,

She is always sure to tell her if her hair is out of curl;

And she is so sympathetic to her friend who’ s much admired,

She is often heard remarking, “Dear, you look so worn and tired.”

And she is an honest critic, for on yesterday she eyed

The new dress I was airing with a woman’ s natural pride,

And she said, “Oh, how becoming!” and then gently added, “it

Is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit.”

Then she said, “If you had heard me yester eve, I’ m sure, my friend,

You would say I was a champion who knows how to defend.”

And she left me with the feeling — most unpleasant, I aver —

That the whole world would despise me if it hadn’ t been for her.

Whenever I encounter her, in such a nameless way

She gives me the impression I am at my worst that day.

And the hat that was imported ( and which cost me half a sonnet ),

With just one glance from her round eyes becomes a Bowery bonnet.

She is always bright and smiling, sharp and pointed for a thrust.

Use does not seem to blunt her point, nor does she gather rust,

Oh! I wish some hapless specimen of mankind would begin

To tidy up the world for me, by picking up this pin!