Page 200 - YB1904

From the hated physics door, Yet the heels, heels, heels, heels, heels, heels, heels Still we feel the silent creep of rubber heels. Hear the hurry of the heels, Business heels. What a mass of misery their run-down side reveals, As they scurry, scurry, scurry In the reckless madd' ning hurry Of the feet-down the street. How they tell of luncheons slighted, Words unsaid and words unrighted In the whirling and the frenzied race for gold. Oh the varied styles of heels! What a glimpse of character this constant look reveals! For the heels, heels, heels, heels, heels, heels, heels, Do make known the various moods The owner feels. 196