Don’t crush her fairy’s wings
Hold her gently in your hand
Help her to feel tall again
None of this was planned
She’s too small for the pen
Can’t write her story down
Too small for the pen
Can’t bring her mind around
She’s wilting in the corner
No one to help her stand
Help her to feel tall again
None of this was planned
Her silver shell is cracking
Naive beyond belief
She’s not as lithesome as she’d like
Keeps glimpses of herself brief
(Thumbelina, Thumbelina-ah)
No junebugs can reach her here
To sweep her into an unknown land
And spirit her away to a lonely bloom
No, none of this was planned
She can question why she was born this small
But of course there is no one to answer her call