Ura May deserted me,
Well, not really.
It was just the way of it,
As summer fireflies flit.
She found her prince all right,
Was away and gone in the night.
She was home again so soon,
That lovely night in June.
“Daddy, I’m married,” she said.
I suppose our hearts all bled.
There was no wedding,
Only words before the bedding.
She eloped and then came home,
We wished she did not roam.
It was the suddenness of it,
But she knew best of that bit.
No one was good enough,
For her, all were too rough,
None had her polish,
They complained of rubbish,
Which was really so unfair,
I remembered rats in my hair.
When Uncle fumed about him,
And his daughter’s whim.
