Her name smelled like bunnies,
And her ribboned hair, of crayons.
Her bedroom, adorned with pastel adventures,
Gentle and propitious.
We laid her in a cradle far too small
The wrong shape; the wrong colour.
Mahogony didn't suit her fragility
And the dank sepulchre stank of futility
They told me the service was beautiful
But I was blind, eyes glazed by tears
Sounds muffled by reminiscence
Of her gurgling laughter, held in suspense
And they laid to rest her tiny body,
And her name, it smelled like bunnies.