I wanted a muff
On an up-to-date scale,
Of some soft fluffy stuff,
With a head and a tail;
So simple and innocent-hearted
I started to go to a sale.

My muscles are tough,
I'm not sickly or pale;
But that shop was enough
To make ‘Hercules’ quail.
The ladies were snatching and gripping,
Each using her arm like a flail.

My passage was rough
And as slow as a snail.
In attempting to luff
I was pinned to a bale,
And asked 'to mind where I was pushing”
By a frowsy and frenzied female.

They ruined my ruff
And twitched off my veil;
The shopman was bluff
When I told him my tale,
And I vowed the next time I played football
I would wear a costume of chain mail.

I went home in a huff,
Looking feeble and frail,
Still minus a muff
With a head and a tail
But my brother politely informed me
I was one, to go to a sale.


About Jessie Pope


Jessie Pope was an English poet, writer and journalist, who remains best known for her patriotic motivational poems published during World War I. Wilfred OwenSiegfried Sassoon has grown. Early Career Born in Leicester, she was educated at North London Collegiate School. She was a regular contributor to Punch, The Daily Mail and The Daily Express, also writing for Vanity Fair, Pall Mall Magazine and the Windsor, Prose Editor A lesser-known literary contribution was Pope's discovery of Robert Noonan's novel The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, when his daughter mentioned the manuscript to her after his death. Pope recommended it to her publisher,... Read more...

Poet of the day

George Canning PC, FRS was a British statesman and politician who served as Foreign Secretary and briefly Prime Minister.

Early life: 1770–1793

Canning was born into an Anglo-Irish family at his parents' home in Queen Anne Street, Marylebone, London. Canning described himself as "an Irishman born in London". His father,...
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Poem of the day


Daß Dir zum Ernste des Lebens die Lust an den Spielen der Musen
Freundliche Götter gewährt, Schönes dem Guten gesellt:
Nicht die schlechteste Gabe der Himmlischen ist′s, und Du selber
Freue Dich deß, in der Brust blüht Dir ein ewiger Lenz!
Früchte des Herbstes gewinnt auch...
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