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The Lonesome Child

by
 The baby in the looking-glass
Is smiling through at me;
She has her teaspoon in her hand,
Her feeder on for tea.
And if I look behind her I Can see the table spread; I wonder if she has to eat The nasty crusts of bread.
Her doll, like mine, is sitting close Beside her special chair, She has a pussy on her lap; It must be my cup there.
Her picture-book is on the floor, The cover's just the same; And tidily upon the shelf I see my Ninepin game.
O baby in the looking-glass, Come through and play with me, And if you will, I promise, dear, To eat your crusts at tea.

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