‘Twas the morning of Christmas, and Frizzy felt low.
(She always felt so when she saw her dolls go.)
For cutting and curling their hair were her duties.
She’d worked the whole year just to make them all beauties,
Fashioning finger waves, pigtails, and curls,
Making sure that her dolls would delight little girls.
But she found herself missing them after they left,
And each Christmas Day, she felt downright bereft.
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