The boy liked her awfully much
But he was a poor kid
From the hills of Woodbury
And she was from Yonkers and then Stamford
And so refined--
She knew how to paint
To play the violin
To sail, sew, embroider
And to shoot (she was a crack shot)--
And her mother was
A Baptist and so very strict
But the boy liked her awfully much
One day he dressed like a girl
And applied to work
As her mother's household servant
But her mother the Baptist
Was as quick and sharp as a switch
And she chased
Her future son-in-law
Who would become a plumber
Down the road.

My grandmother told me this story many a time when I was young. It goes without saying she was proud of her dad's gumption and grit. The story went on: after the death of his father-in-law, my great-grandfather would take in his mother- and sisters-in-law and support them. They would live in the home for which my great-grandmother drew up the plans and my great-grandfather had built for her. My great-grandparents would have six kids, live well, and love each other to the very end.