An elven-mail there was of old, A stenographer by day; Her hair was fake, her teeth were gold, Her sent was that of cheep sachet. She thought that art was really 'keen', The top ten she could hum; Her eyes were full of Maybelline, Her mouth, of chewing gum. Her head was full of men and clothes, Her hair, of rattled curls; Her legs she wrapped in fine Sup-Hose, For nights out with the girls. She met one morn an elvin-lad, Who took her to the fights, And said he owned a spacious pad, And went to law school nights. And so that nights she gave her all In back of his sedan; So rich, she thought, so sharp and tall, A perfect family man. But then he told her with a mirk, That he loved another, And was a part-time postal clerk And lived home with his mother. A silver tear rolled down her cheek As she bussed home by herself; The same thing happened twice last week, (Oh, Heaven help the Working-elf!) "Bored of the rings" by H.N.Beard, D.C.Kenney)