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C J Dennis - Hats
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I sing of the hat, of the human lid,
   The cadev, the tile, or whatever you please,
The thing that we wear - or our fathers did
   For the making of comfort and greater ease.
Man suffers a roof up over his head
   `Gainst the wind and the weather, to keep them out;
But as for a woman, when all is said,
   It`s the very last thing she thinks about.

Why queer "creations" should deck her brow,
   Or the back of her neck, or her small pink ear,
She hasn`t the least idea, I vow;
   For out of the blue come things of fear,
And, all in a night as it were - like that -
   Every matron and maid in town
Abandons the saucer she had for a hat
   For a thing like a billy-can upside down.

Weird fruit salads and flower-decked tiles,
   Dingle-dangles, roosters and bows,
Furs and feathers have served the styles
   And what is the next craze no man knows.
But the cruel thing that I have heard said
   I still deny, as I ever denied:
That the crazy affairs on the feminine head
   Give evidence clear of the stuff inside.
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