Perhaps a little song for Rose
A girl caught in the proper pose
To
walk on eggshells, pointed toes
To be the best she can be
The perfect wife, she cooks and sews
She scrubs and cleans, she weeds and sows
Her proper manner, her neat clothes
To be the best she can be
Her short-cut nails, her powdered nose
Her hair tied up with lace and bows
Hair prim,
regardless when wind blows
To be the best she can be
Ever cites the sweetest prose
She's never haughty, never gauche
She plays the game as best she knows
To be the best she can be
She's ever careful where she goes
The party halls, the movie shows
Prefers the well-lit aisle-side rows
To be the best she can be
Her eyes as gentle as a doe's
Belies
her deeper troubled woes
She
hides her heart's most inner throws
To be the best she can be
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