I’M not kicking on expenses, now the sewing time commences,
I will buy chiffon and laces till they say they’ve got enough;
Sure her dress for graduation shall excite the admiration
Of the masses who behold her; it shall be the finest stuff.
She shall even carry roses, when her high school training closes,
For she’s worthy of the finest that there is in all the town;
But I sometimes sit and ponder of the days away off yonder
When her mother graduated in a simple gingham gown.
I have watched the fuss and bustle, and this ceaseless rush and hustle,
And I’ve listened to the planning of this graduation dress,
And I know when all is ended, she will make a picture splendid,
And I wouldn’t be contented if she didn’t, I confess.
But I still recall the other glorious picture of her mother,
With her cheeks as pink as peaches and her hair a golden brown,
As I gazed at her enraptured, and my heart, I know, she captured
On the day she graduated in her simple gingham gown.
I’d be laughed down if I said it, in such matters they don’t credit
Me with knowing what is really very swell;
I can picture now their faces, if instead of silk and laces,
My preference for gingham, I should tell.
But with me it’s grown a passion, and in spite of style and fashion,
And what women folks think needful, I insist and write it down,
I shall never see another quite so charming as her mother
On the day she graduated in her simple gingham gown.
