Poems (Kennedy)/Forty Days
FORTY DAYS
SHE'S keeping her Lent quite strictly With her suddenly staid little ways;"Get thee behind me, Satan," she cries, "And stay there—forty days!"
At church each morn and evening She hardly lifts her lashes,And, but for the hue, you'd take her rouge For sprinkle of penitent ashes.
She kneels 'neath the stained glass window While the organ notes are hummingAnd looks like a saint—and wonders if Her sackcloth is becoming.
For sackcloth may be quite lovely If only 'tis worn arightAnd even if one is aping the prudes One needn't be quite a fright.
She's keeping her Lent; gainst bonbons And dancing she's put up the bar:"Get thee behind me, Satan," she cries, "But—pray don't get very far."