In Our Dainty Little Kitchen, Where My Aproned Wife Is Queen Over All The Tin-Pan People, In A Realm Exceeding Clean, Oft I Like To Loiter, Watching While She Mixes Things For Tea; And She Tasks Me, Slyly Smiling, 'Now Just Guess What This Will Be!' Hidden In A Big Blue Apron, Her Dimpled Arms Laid Bare, And The Love-Smiles Coyly Mingling With A Housewife'S Frown Of Care See Her Beat A Golden Batter, Pausing But To Ask Of Me, As She Adds A Bit Of Butter, 'Now Just Guess What This Will Be!' Then I Bravely Do My Duty, Guess It, 'Pudding,' 'Cake' Or 'Pie,' 'Dumplings,' 'Waffles,' 'Bread' Or 'Muffins;' But No Matter What I Try, This Provoking Witch Just Answers: 'Never Mind, Just Wait And See! But I Think You Should Be Able, Dear, To Guess What This Will Be.' Little Fraud! She Never Tells Me Until 'Tis Baked And Browned And I Think I Know The Reason For Her Secrecy Profound She Herself With All Her Fine Airs And Her Books On Cookery, Could Not Answer, Should I Ask Her, 'Dearest, What Will That Mess Be?'