The creases of my stored duvet
now serve to nudge some childish thought,
create an ancient, wrinkled crone,
as those in nursery rhymes we're taught.
Two squished up, squinting beady eyes,
an elongated, twisted nose,
inflated, swollen upper lip,
and there below, a mouth, red rose.
Many a wonder with here dwell
up high on that, my furthest shelf.
Mummy declares a mystery
which I'll never solve 'til I look myself.
PP words: two, wonder, mystery
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