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C J Dennis - Red Robin
Work rating: Low

Hi, it`s a funny world!  This mornin` when I woke
I saw red robin on the fence, an` heard the words he spoke.
  Red robin, he`s a perky chap, an` this was his refrain:
  "Dear, it`s a pity that poor Jenny is so plain."

To talk like that about his wife!  It had me scandalized.
I`d heard him singin` so before, but never recognised
  The meaning of his chatter, or that he could be so vain:
  "Dear, it`s a pity that poor Jenny is so plain."

I don`t know how, I don`t know why, but this reminded me
I was promised to the widow for this Sunday night to tea.
  I`d promised her for weeks an` weeks, until she pinned me down.
  I recollects this is the day, an` gets up with a frown.

I was thinkin` of the widow while I gets me clobber on -
Like a feller will start thinkin` of the times that`s past an` gone.
  An`, while my thoughts is runnin` so, that bird chips in again:
  "Dear, it`s a pity that poor Jenny is so plain."

Now, the widow`s name is Jenny, an` it strikes me sort of queer
That my thoughts should be upon her when that robin`s song I hear.
  She ain`t so homely neither; but she never could compare
  With a certain bonzer vision with the sunlight in her hair.

When I wander down that evenin`, she come smilin` to the gate,
An` her look is calculatin`, as she scolds because I`m late.
  She takes my hat an` sits me down an` heaves a little sigh.
  But I get a queer sensation from that glimmer in her eye.

She starts to talk about the mill, an` then about the strike,
An` then she digs Ben Murray up an` treats him nasty-like;
  She treats him crool an` cattish, as them soft, sweet women can.
  But I ups an` tells her plainly that I think Ben is a man.

First round to me.  But she comes back, an` says Ben is a cad
Who`s made a laughin`-stock of her, an` treated her reel bad.
  I twig she`s out for sympathy; so counters that, an` says
  That Ben`s a broken-hearted man about the mill these days.

The second round to me on points; an` I was havin` hopes.
(I might have known that widows were familiar with the ropes.)
  "But he`d never make a husband!" says the widow, with a sigh.
  An` again I gets a warnin` from that glimmer in her eye.

I says I ain`t no judge of that; an` treats it with a laugh.
But she keeps the talk on `usbands for a minute an` a half.
  I can`t do much but spar a bit, an` keep her out of range;
  So the third round is the widow`s; an` the fight takes on a change.

I`m longin` for a breather, for I`ve done my nerve a lot,
When suddenly she starts on "Love," an` makes the pace reel hot.
  In half a jiff she has me on the ropes, an` breathin` hard,
  With not a fight inside me - I can only duck an` guard.

She uppercuts me with a sigh, an` jabs me with a glance.
(When a widow is the fighter, has a single bloke a chance?)
  Her short-arm blows are amorous, most lovin` is her lunge;
  Until it`s just a touch an` go I don`t throw up the sponge.

I use my head-piece here a bit to wriggle from the fix;
For the widow is a winner `less I fluke a win by tricks.
  An` I lets a reel mean notion (that I don`t seek to excuse),
  when I interrupts her rudely with, "But have you heard the news?"

Now, to a woman, that`s a lead dead certain of a score,
An` a question that the keenest is unable to ignore.
  An` good old Curiosity comes in to second me,
  As I saw her struggle hopeless, an` "What news is that?" says she. 

An` here I spins a lovely yarn, a gloomy hard-luck tale
Of how I`ve done my money in, an` I`m about to fail,
  How my house an` land is mortgaged, how I`ve muddled my affairs
  Through foolin` round with racin` bets and rotten minin` shares.

I saw the fight was easy mine the minute I begun;
An`, after half a dozen words, the time-keep counted "One."
  An` when I finish that sad tale there ain`t the slightest doubt
  I am winner of the contest, an` the widow`s down an` out.

But not for long.  Although she`s lost, the widow is dead game:
"I`m sorry, Mister Jim," says she, "for both your loss an` shame.
  All things is changed between us now, of course; the past is dead.
  An` what you were about to say you please will leave unsaid."

     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

I was thinkin` in the evenin` over how I had escaped,
An` how the widow took it all - the way she stared an` gaped.
  She looked her plainest at that time; but that don`t matter now;
  For, plain or fair, I know of one who`s fairer, anyhow.

I tells meself that beauty ain`t a thing to count with man,
 An` I would never choose a wife on that unthinkin` plan.
  No robin was awake, I swear; but still I heard that strain;
  "Dear, it`s a pity that poor Jenny is so plain."
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