"Write to me when you get home,
so I'll never feel alone.
Take your pen and tell me all
what upon you did befall,
sweetest Mary Skinner."
"Ladies sometimes don't have time,
though her man may be sublime.
Write me first, and then I"ll see
that you really care for me,"
smiled Mary Skinner.
"Nonsense! What's this folderol?
Writing first and love and all?
They've naught to do with each other;
we can still love one another,
silly Mary Skinner."
"Oh, dear sir! Where is your heart?
If you are the one to start,
it would show me that you care,
though I am no longer there!"
cried poor Mary Skinner.
"As a man, I must be firm:
Write to me on your return!
I like you so very much;
eyes and nose and hair and such,
pretty Mary Skinner."
"All this talk I don't believe.
Girls can never be deceived!
Since you will not write me first,
I must then assume the worst."
Goodbye, Mary Skinner.
But, as she walks out the door,
fearing I'll see her no more,
off I rush to pen and ink,
sit down and begin to think,
"Dearest Mary Skinner...."
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