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Skins
They give my skin a fair good scrape,
Which puts me in a dandy shape,
That is if I've been caught in time,
When my skin stood within its prime.
I pass within a room of steam,
There to be aired out awful clean,
Where I get rid of all my smell,
And certainly will do to sell.
Most all of us then get some dye,
On tails and neck and back to dry,
And then to factories, stores and shores,
We're packed and handled by the scores.
Into the show windows I go,
Some martens, sables, price below,
And hang there till some loving beau
Buys it for his—well, you know.
The otter and the silver fox
Come in the 'aristocratic box;
The badger and the wolverine
In cloaks and muffs are to be seen.
—T. A. Etterman
Fur, News. Fur News, January 1916.
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