From the Omaha Daily Bee, April 14, 1915.
I used to call you Carrots, dear,
When we were girl and boy;
I called you Ginger, too—I fear,
With purpose to annoy.
I held my hands above your head
To warm my fingers cold,
And it made you cry in the days gone by—
But now your hair is gold!
I used to call you Sorrel, dear,
When you were small in frocks;
But now you reign without a peer,
My darling Goldilocks!
For time’s revenge has come to you,
And I am all forlorn
In the silken snare of your glorious hair,
With its aureole of morn.
I used to call you Candy Drop
When you were just a girl,
And Mustard Seed and Sandy Top
And Dandelion Curl;
But now your head has won a light
Like fields of summer wheat;
I long to hold each lock of gold
That binds me to your feet.
I used to pull the tangled knots—
Oh memory of shame!
I called aloud for water pots
To quench the ruddy flame.
But now it is my heart that burns
While you are cold and coy,
And my life I’d dare for the golden hair
That I laughed at when a boy.