It was recess in the playground at midnight,
When I met a most peculiar girl in sight.
Her eyes were weird and lovely,
But with a stare that was austere and ugly.
Her name was Creet Petit,
Not one that a Frenchman would ever want to eat.
Her hair was ravenous and long,
Her bangs cut zigzag and wrong.
Soiled in a Victorian uniform a piquet too small,
Lacey black stockings in boots and all.
Her legs were rickety and tall,
Whereas her feet were a wee too small.
She had this pale Max Factor look of deceit,
With a bloody red mouth from eating non-descriptive meat.
She spoke in rhythm with rhymes
About heinous nursery crimes!
And grievous bodily harm
Using croquet sticks in arms!
In rigor mortis she would count to ten,
As she’d rather write with a sword than a pen.
Before her lay a handsome head.
A former playmate, a pretty boy, o dread!
Who didn’t quite play her rules I read.
Mentioned she’s taking him to bed. Well enough said!
With my polka dot ribbons and biscuit barrels,
It dawned on me that she cast no shadows.
My pubic hairs felt strangely curled like Goldie locks in little girls!
So frightened, that I could not scream!
So please, o please be a dream!
My eyes wide shut as I grimaced…
Be gone! Be gone!
You’re totally wrong!
Don’t you leave my mornings till dusk,
Or feed my body to the ducks!
Sooner than my world could turn to dust!
So….In other words I’m positively fff….clucked!
And that’s my little story about Creet Petit
The tall terror with little feet,
A girl you would definitely not want to meet.