Oh isn’t she a beauty?
Oh isn’t she something?
She whistles and skips,
gives generous tips,
her pout pleasant with eyes twinkling.
She learns from the old
and teaches the young,
saves vagrants from cold
with the scarves she knits them.
And when she stays home
on a Saturday night,
she’s content all alone,
a lovely solitary sight.
There’s room in her heart
for mother brother sister and pop
with a vacancy held
for the family she’ll start.
On the day that you find
that this sprite I’ve become
is exactly the kind
you could tenderly love.
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