She stood in congruously in the shop window
Like a solitary palm tree on a dale
Her colour was flaky, dried and pale
She watched the passerby with sorrow.
If only they knew, once upon a time
She danced and danced all over the world
Once strutting her Swan Lake for King Leopold
She was a butterfly on a field of thyme.
Her admirers came again and again
Like the countless waves splashing on the rocks
They drank and drank until she got soaked.
They called her my fruity, my fluffy, my siren.
Now, she has nobody except a big hole in her sole
Oh, the past is such a sad place to crawl.
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