Poems (Hoffman)/A Bosom Friend

by Martha Lavinia Hoffman

A BOSOM FRIEND

I have a friend, a bosom friend,
'Tis many years since first I met her;
And while my path and hers don't blend,
I pray the kindly Fates to pet her.

She seeks the country, for her health,
"Runs over for a flying visit;"
The months pass by with noiseless tread,
It isn't any wonder, is it?

There's one, at least, admires her style,
And one, at least, who thinks her pretty;
And at the distance of a mile
You'd know, she's lately from the City.

She calls me now, "her bosom friend,"
And then again, "her country cousin"
And airs, where'er our way we wend,
Her street-flirtations, by the dozen;

And, just for recreation's sake,
Her arts on some poor youth she'll practice,
Then o'er a frog, a spasm take;
(She's studying to be an actress.)

She's sad at times and sometimes gay,
Grows suddenly so sentimental.
She's perfect in a tragedy,
Her fame will yet be—continental.

My mode of dress, she doesn't commend,
She'll criticize my every feature;
But then, she is my bosom friend
And such a perfect little creature.

She trills the sweet Mikado airs,
This gushing little maid unwary,
She finds out all my least affairs
And makes them like her music—airy.

Her charms I fully comprehend,
I know my imperfections better;
And while her path and mine—don't blend,
I pray the kindly Fates to pet her.

May sweet Mikado airs repeat
To make sublime, life's prickly cactus;
May dudes still wither at her feet.
Long may the City keep its actress.

But should this darling bosom friend
Be drawn by sweet affection's fetter,
Another flight with me to spend,
O, pitying Fates, I pray, don't let her!