A PIN

Oh! I know a certain woman who is reckoned with the good, But she fills me with more terror than a raging lion could. 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 n't be said — When 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 n'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 “bang” 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 a careful 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 softly added, “It Is really a misfortune that the basque is such a fit.”

Then she said: “If you had heard me yestereve, I'm sure, my friend, You would say I am a champion who knows how to defend.” And she left me with a feeling — most unpleasant, I aver — That the whole world would despise me if it had n'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 that 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 shining 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.