A wee little girl,
No older than eight,
Arranged her dolls in her doll house to play;
Daddy’s at work and mommy’s in the market
House to herself
No one there to interrupt
A push on the doorbell,
“Who is it”, she says
“It’s your favorite cousin”, the voice on the other end claims.
Another playmate and so she joyfully bounds,
The door swings open with hardly a sound.
Little girls didn’t yet know of wolves in sheepskins,
Alas, her mother had never factored this incident in.
The dolls watched in horror,
As innocence was lost;
And another star in the sky crumbled to fine dust...
