When her room is so untidy, 
 with a heap of this and that,
An array of girlish notions
 and a garish, plumed hat.
A heap of clothing hidden when
 she thinks they're out of sight.
A bed with sheets all crammed beneath
 a spread that looks a fright.
When relatives and friends discuss
 the habits learned in youth,
In training children, verify
 that it's established truth.
I sometimes sit in deep despair
 and wonder if 'twill last.
But it's really such a short time
 from the first doll to the last.

by Marjoie Pulliam-Woodcox