No matter where my route may lie, No matter Whither I repair, In brief - no matter how or Why Or When I go, the boys are there.
On lane and byways, street and square, On alley, path and avenue, They seem to spring up everywhere The men I am not married to.
I watch them as they pass me by; At each in wonderment I stare, And, but for heaven's grace, I cry, There goes the guy Whose name I'd wear! They represent no species rare, They walk and talk as others do; They're fair to see - but only fair The men I am not married to.
I'm sure that to a mother's eye Is each potentially a bear. But though at home they rank ace-high, No change of heart could I declare. Yet worry silvers not their hair; They deck them not with sprigs of rue. It's curious how they do not care The men I am not married to.
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