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)