Nathalia Crane (1913 – 1998)
Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy,
And the janitor's boy is in love with me;
He's going to hunt for a desert isle
In our geography.
A desert isle with spicy trees
Somewhere near Sheepshead Bay;
A right nice place, just fit for two
Where we can live alway.
Oh I'm in love with the janitor's boy,
And the janitor's boy is busy as he can be;
And down in the cellar he's making a raft
Out of an old settee.
He'll carry me off, I know that he will,
For his hair is exceedingly red;
And the only thing that occurs to me
Is to dutifully shiver in bed.
And on the day that we sail, I will leave a little note,
For my parents I hate to annoy:
"I have flown to an island in the bay
With the janitor's red-haired boy."