Look at him there in his stovepipe hat, <br />His high-top shoes, and his handsome collar; <br />Only my Daddy could look like that, <br />And I love my Daddy like he loves his Dollar. <br /> <br />The screen door bangs, and it sounds so funny-- <br />There he is in a shower of gold; <br />His pockets are stuffed with folding money, <br />His lips are blue, and his hands feel cold. <br /> <br />He hangs in the hall by his black cravat, <br />The ladies faint, and the children holler: <br />Only my Daddy could look like that, <br />And I love my Daddy like he loves his Dollar.<br /><br />William Jay Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/american-primitive/
