Like a spoiled brat, she tries to
takes over the party—Look !
—I can twirl, shake my curls
like Shirley Temple, and sing!

Ignore her, she will throw
a tantrum, howling Me! Me! Me!
Yet, how charming she can be
when she chooses—garlanding
the fence in white rermine–
giving the garden statue
a splendid Cossack hat —
transforming the terrace table
into a giant wedding cake.
Watch me, she whispers all night,
by morning I will have conquered
the forsythia and the firethorn,
and lo, even the pine-trees
will bow down before me.

Geraldine Zetzel