Poem for December 21, 2026

Prudence Mears hath an old blue plate

Hid away in an oaken chest,

And a Franklin platter of ancient date

Beareth Amandy Baker's crest;

What times soever I've been their guest,

Says I to myself in an undertone:

"Of womenfolk, it must be confessed,

These do I love, and these alone."

Well, again, in the Nutmeg State,

Dorothy Pratt is richly blest

With a relic of art and a land effete--

A pitcher of glass that's cut, not pressed.

And a Washington teapot is possessed

Down in Pelham by Marthy Stone--

Think ye now that I say in jest

"These do I love, and these alone?"

Were Hepsy Higgins inclined to mate,

Or Dorcas Eastman prone to invest

In Cupid's bonds, they could find their fate

In the bootless bard of Crockery Quest.

For they've heaps of trumpery--so have the rest

Of those spinsters whose ware I'd like to own;

You can see why I say with such certain zest,

"These do I love, and these alone."