She thought the children odd is France,
⁠Our winsome little maid;

But what surprised her most of all,
⁠They spoke French when they played!

A long way off there came in sight
A pole with stripes of red and white.
So like a candy-stick it stood
You ‘d almost think it tasted good.
We walked inside and found him there—
The barber-man who cut my hair.

And there are bottles on a shelf,
And chairs so big you lose yourself,
And picture papers hung on poles,
And painted cups in cubbyholes,
And lots of looking-glasses, too,
That show you different kinds of you.

The shiny shears went “peck-a-peck,”
As cold as ice, about my neck.
When Mother told him, “That ’s enough,”
He fizzed my head with smelly stuff
And helped me down; and everywhere
Ahout me lay my old dead hair.

And, oh, when everything was through,
I felt so clean and cool and new!
And I was bought a red balloon,
And smelled so fine all afternoon.
If I could only have my way,
I'd get my hair cut every day!