A tight little bundle of wailing and flannel, Perplex'd with the newly found fardel of life.

The hair she means to have is gold, Her eyes are blue, she's twelve weeks old, Plump are her fists and pinky. She fluttered down in lucky hour From some blue deep in yon sky bower-- I call her "Little Dinky."

And now I hear its voice again, And still its message is of peace, It sings of love that will not cease, For me it never sings in vain.

The world's as ugly as sin, and almost as delightful

"Vanitas vanitatum" has rung in the ears Of gentle and simple for thousands of years; The wail still is heard, yet its notes never scare Either simple or gentle from Vanity Fair.

Remember, cobbler, to keep to your leather. [Lat., Memento, in pellicula, cerdo, tenere tuo.]