I have a friend, a little friend,
Who lives upon a fan;
Perhaps he is a woman,
Perhaps she is a man.
His clothes they are so very queer,
So _very_ queer, in sooth,
I sometimes call him "lovely maid,"
And sometimes "gentle youth."
Her hair is combed up straight and smooth
Above his pretty face.
His looks are full of friendliness;
Her attitude, of grace.
And every morning when I wake,
And every evening too,
She greets me with his pleasant smile,
And friendly "How-d'ye-do?"
She wonders why I lie in bed;
He thinks my wisest plan
Would be to come and live with her
Upon a paper fan.
But that, alas! can never be;
And so I never can
Know whether he's a woman,
Or whether she's a man.