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 tippy-toes
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 sheep-doll 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 wasn’t so small