In the good old summertime you used to know,
a Doris Day-dream brought a happy smile
combined with Cary Grant, or any song
she ever sang in general, besides.
Or maybe Nat King Cole was more your style:
a smile that pleased both blacks and whites alike—
with voice as sweet as caramel, down deep.
The clouds of life would dissipate for each,
and any fear or sorrow would relent.
Or maybe Shirley Temple charmed you more,
with eyes like stars of choc’late-covered hearts,
reminding every audience great loss
would soon be turned to gladness in due time.
Or Abbott and Costello might have made
you grin, or chortle, smiling often, as
you watched them as they prattled cleverly.
Perhaps the great Marx Brothers made you smile;
as Groucho womanized, you prized each quip,
with Harpo’s gaffes, and Chico’s accent’s laughs.
Or else you were a fan of Danny Kaye,
or Hope and Crosby, Lucille Ball, or more.
Whoever and whatever made you smile
was just pure gold you’d treasure for a while.
