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When Cupid Comes

From the Omaha Daily Bee, December 13, 1913. By Kate Masterson.

Today, upon the avenue, I met him face to face.
His gray eyes sought my own of blue, beneath their film of lace.
I passed him, flushing, through the throng, the while he poised his hat.
The air sang in my ears a song—Freddie is growing fat!

Ten years ago—ten years ago! ’Twas summer when we met,
And roses bloom and breezes blow about that Junetime yet.
So fresh, so lovely and so sweet; a tender, old, dead day!
Now in the afternoon we meet—he’s wearing a toupee!

No straight-front model bound his waist, vested in English style.
His keen glance swept my bodice laced, his gray eyes seemed to smile;
And yet his look was reverent, dim, o’er full with memory.
But as I slowly measured him, he seemed to size up me.

Ah, love and summer and romance! If we could but delay
When time leads us a merry dance and steals our joys away;
If, like a rose, we fade in truth, in the chill grasp of fate!
But Cupid grins when love and youth begin to take on weight!

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