She had a white blonde curl.
She used to sit and read,
This used to help succeed.
Now we sit and wait,
Trying to hide her fate.
Her temper is getting worse,
It’s almost like a curse.
Waiting to explode,
Like a gun waiting to reload.
She doesn’t even care,
That people stop and stare.
That little girl's in exile,
The one remaining is fragile.
One thing will set her going,
Her temper then starts growing.
I used to know a girl,
She had a white blonde curl.
Now there’s no aplomb,
She’s like a sitting bomb.
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