Poems (Geisse)/The Complaint of a Bonnet
THE COMPLAINT OF A BONNET.
I once was a Sunday bonnet And shaded a lovely face, But now for some reason or other I find I'm in disgrace.
My fair young mistress treats me With unrelenting scorn; Excepting in bad weather She never puts me on.
She took away my bandbox To shelter her new hat; She says I am not stylish, What can she mean by that?
She says my rim's too flaring. And that my crown's too small; And yet, upon my honor, I haven't changed at all.
I am the very bonnet That she admired so,And purchased with such pleasure. But one short year ago.
So why I've ceased to please her, Is more than I can tell, For of one thing I'm certain That I became her well.
And as for grace and beauty, Why any one can see, The hat that she is wearing Does not compare with me.