Classic Poem

Have you got the jellies made, mother?
Are the sandwiches au fait ?
Are the salads wrought and the wine all bought
For the splurge on New Year's day?
You look serene as a regnant queen,
But there 'll be some hitch, I fear,
For I 'm to receive this year, mother —
I 'm to receive this year.

My dress is such a daisy, mother,
What wonder if I am vain?
'T is a white pique, decollete,
With a princesse skirt, en train.
That 's why I yearn and impatient burn
For the splurge that is, oh, so near,
For I 'm to receive this year, mother —
I 'm to receive this year.

Jack says he will come at ten, mother,
And tarry the rest of the day.
Why turn up your nose? You don't suppose
He 'd dare to stay away?
Though Jack is proud and hates a crowd,
I 'm certain he will be here,
For I 'm to receive this year, mother —
I 'm to receive this year.

So call me at half-past eight, mother —
Don't let me sleep till nine.
I 've crimped my hair, and over the chair
I 've thrown my dresses fine;
At half-past eight — now don't be late —
Come early, O mother dear,
For I 'm to receive this year, mother —
I 'm to receive this year.