Classic Poem

When Father goes to town with me to buy my Sunday hat,
We can't afford to waste much time in doing things like that;
We walk into the nearest shop, and Father tells them then,
“Just bring a hat you think will fit a little girl of ten!”

It may be plain, it may be fine with lace and flowers too;
If it just “feels right” on my head we think that it will do;
It may be red or brown or blue, with ribbons light or dark;
We put it on—and take the car that goes to Central Park.

When Mother buys a hat for me, we choose the shape with care;
We ask if it's the best they have, and if they're sure 'twill wear;
And when the trimming's rather fine, why, Mother shakes her head
And says, “Please take the feathers off—we'd like a bow instead!”

But oh, when Sister buys my hats, you really do not know
The hurry and the worry that we have to undergo!
How many times I've heard her say—and shivered where I sat—
“I think I'll go to town to-day, and buy that child a hat!”

They bring great hats with curving brims, but I'm too tall for those;
And hats that have no brim at all, which do not suit my nose;
I walk about, and turn around, and struggle not to frown:
I wish I had long curly hair like Angelina Brown.

Till when at last the daylight goes, and I'm so tired then,
I hope I'll never, never need another hat again,
And when I've quite made up my mind that shopping is the worst
Of all my tasks—then Sister buys the hat that we saw first

And so we take it home with us as quickly as we may,
And Sister lifts it from the box and wonders what they'll say;
And I—I peep into the glass, and (promise not to tell!)
I smile, because I really think it suits me very well.

Then slip into the library as quiet as can be,
And this is what my Brother says when first he looks at me:
“Upon—my—word! I never saw a queerer sight than that!
Don't tell me this outrageous thing is Polly's Sunday hat!”