Miss Tore

Janet Tore
Became awfully sore,
When day after day
She’d head out the door, and
Her mother would tell her
Time and again
“Please do not dawdle
And be home by ten.”

But Janet,
Whose mind was likely to wander,
Was one of a kind
For there were none who were fonder
Of a leisurely stroll,
For exercise sake,
With the statue
That stood in the park by the lake.

There was seldom a day
She would miss her preamble,
Keeping time by dear Janet
Was never a gamble,
But alas as she visited
Day after day
Her old friend, the statue,
Had nothing to say.

She would ask him,
And quiz him, and interrogate plenty,
But for all of her questions,
He answered not any.
He’d just stand there
And smile with a bird on his head
And listen intently
To all that she said.

1981