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)