In tribute to all things petite Pretty and sweet This verse I offer and greet In desire to replete A portrait painted from truth But imagined to soothe For Beauty, eternal in youth Loves pity, compassion, and ruth I stumbled out of the saloon An evening last June And heard a distant, mournful tune Under the dyad moon My Soul, though with wine I did douse The song did arouse I followed, a drunken louse Unto a cardboard house And through the window to see A doll before me Singing to the mirror was she Was it a plea? Her room was all dresses and bows For a doll needs her clothes She leaned in to breathe from a rose And stood on her tippytoes With a brush made of jade and pearl She straightened her blonde curl I saw the sad eyes of a girl Under teardrops, aswirl She went to her canopied bed And laid down her head She picked up her sheepdoll and said Something with dread Though I was too drunk to make sense I felt her Essence And turned to leave this pretense For night, black and immense I remember that singing doll And her grievous call As a little reminder to us all Whose sadness wasnt so small
doll, aswirl, tippytoes, sheepdoll, dyad