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 à 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
Deplore,
'Twould only sniff
And perk its little nose
Some more.
It's bright, though small;
Its name, you may have guessed,
Is "Wife."
But, after all,
It gives a wondrous zest
To life!
