Fanfare For Janet

Let Abyssinian kings be meek,
Let dime store queens be humble,
Let brave policemen cease to seek
For hunted men. Ah, stumble,
You haughty matrons, pouter-pigeon
Chested; ah, grave preachers,
Smile and be gay in your religion;
You sober-visaged teachers,
Let routine pause. Clerks, cold as clams,
Stand silent in your doors;
Messengers carrying telegrams,
Go softly on your chores:
For here she comes, her majesty
Queenly and grave and mild
So dark of hair, so blue of eye,
My own, my youngest child:
A regal baby, fine and good,
Wearing a fuzzy woolen hood!

LEONA AMES HILL.