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For Joan Crawford

Her eyes were blue and shining,
her skin was white as snow.
Her smile warmed the spirit,
and her voice would smoothly flow.

The outside, made of porcelain;
her core was made of stone.
She was headstrong and undaunted
in the face of the unknown.

Like the rose, a treasured beauty,
and abundant were her thorns.
But imperfections scatter
‘neath the footstall she adorns.

We regard her as a Goddess-
a deity of the arts.
She’s the empress of extravagance;
the queen of broken hearts.

But if we lift the golden veil
we’ll see what lies behind the glamour:
a child, sweet and impish,
with the power to enamor.

As Joan, Miss Crawford, Mommie Dearest,
alas, we knew her well.
But Billie wields the charming wand-
‘tis she who casts the spell.


By Shells Bells

© 2010 Shells Bells (All rights reserved)


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