Grown-up girls with silken curls
Dream hazily of yesteryear
When little boys, smitten, green
Pledged devotion to their queen.
Content with dress-up and pretend meals
And play money that paid the bills
How idyllic, how divine
The future settled, his and mine.
Then along came Betsy intent on sweets
Looking for something good to eat
With pouts and preens she took him away
Sampling devotion I’d thought would stay.
I would have died if there’d been time
But in my pocket I felt a dime
So off I went to buy ice cream
Vanilla, you know, with a swirl of crème.
And then a thought came to my mind
Devotion is fickle and not worth a dime
But thank goodness for dimes in jeans
They save the day from broken dreams.
Marie Hunter Atwood