Tiny Fingers

How I miss her tiny fingers,
And how her smell would often linger
In the garden, in the grove,
In the kitchen, in the stove.

How I miss her tiny eyes,
That pleaded me to sympathize
On her recent homeless state:
Cast out by dear old Dad's new mate.

How I miss her tiny hands,
I even miss her sweet demands,
For candy and more gingerbread,
Oh my, she was a puddin' head.

How I miss her tiny toes,
With a dash of fresh ground cloves,
Now I'm hungry for a morsel
(Now I'm stuck. What rhymes...uh...dorsal?)

Wait, here comes a welcome snack
Whose fallen off the beaten track.
Come in, dear boy, you're not too late,
To help the child attrition rate.


What? Too Grimm?