give me a girl
a singing willow
weeping dreams
into her pillow,
stitching stars
for troubled times
for troubled times
and blue;                                                  
we sail with her in
pea-green boats
to Jumblies
far and few

give me a girl
a falling lark
who cringes
at her sordid arts;
a girl of clay
for pity’s sake,
God, for pity’s sake;
dolls pump hearts
that will not break
and switching smiles
of silky sass,
they feed on lies
like cake.