Evening Musicale
Candles. Red tulips, ninety cents the bunch.
Two lions, Grade B. A newly tuned piano.
No cocktails, but a dubious kind of punch,
Lukewarm and weak. A harp and a soprano.
The " Lullaby " of Brahms. Somebody's cousin
From Forest Hills, addicted to the pun.
Two dozen gentlemen; ladies, three dozen,
Earringed and powdered. Sandwiches at one.
The ash trays few, the ventilation meager.
Shushes to greet the late-arriving guest
Or quell the punch-bowl group. A young man eager
To render " Danny Deever " by request.
And sixty people trying to relax
On little rented chairs with gilded backs.
Two lions, Grade B. A newly tuned piano.
No cocktails, but a dubious kind of punch,
Lukewarm and weak. A harp and a soprano.
The " Lullaby " of Brahms. Somebody's cousin
From Forest Hills, addicted to the pun.
Two dozen gentlemen; ladies, three dozen,
Earringed and powdered. Sandwiches at one.
The ash trays few, the ventilation meager.
Shushes to greet the late-arriving guest
Or quell the punch-bowl group. A young man eager
To render " Danny Deever " by request.
And sixty people trying to relax
On little rented chairs with gilded backs.
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