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She was looking my way, I had nothing to say, Though I'd dreamed that this day would transpire; With her beaux all around, why would she look at me With such interest and playful desire? She was heading my way, what on earth would I say To the prettiest girl in the town? And how could I bear all her sunshiny hair Or her eyes, speckled golden and brown? I thought, "This is the one! Mercy, here comes the sun! If I stare, I shall surely be blind: Though I be somewhat plain, if she choose to remain I'd be last in the county to mind." Then my eyes turned away as she sweetly did say Pretty phrases I cannot recall; And I mumbled replies, though they might have been lies, Since I cannot remember at all. Of that bright day in May but one thing I can say, She was dressed in a soft yellow gown; 'Twas a lemony hue that was buttery too, And with eight shiny pearls buttoned down. Then I asked if she'd dance at the Cunningham's manse, At the ball on the fourteenth of June; She replied, "Oh, how good! Yes, I certainly would; And I hope I shall talk to you soon." What a wonderful day! Still with nothing to say I just whistled an old happy tune; Having primrosy dreams of sweet peaches and cream As I counted the hours of June. (Written February 12, 2014)
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