Sing A Song of Freckles

a poem by Christine Anne Shaw, UK

She's not too pleased that she's been teased
by boys, who like to have their fun.
It's not her fault that she's been caught
by sunbeams in the noon-day sun.

And there exposed upon her nose
(retrousse)*, is a tiny trail
of specks and flecks, the sun's delight,
left on her skin, once winter pale.

"Now don't your fret my little pet",
says Grandad to his fair of face.
"Those kisses for my pretty miss
are like the stars in outer space'.

'They're quite unique, forget your pique
and learn to love your freckles well,
then teasing boys can stew or queue
with those enchanted by your spell.'

* pronounced retroussay (french)for uptilting

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