She measured me, and how she frowned
But on the internet she found
Material of purest white
I was to be a tasty sight.
She cut and sewed for half a day
Then measured more, as if to say
“I'm not quite sure if this is right
It may be great, it might be [poor].”
I saw her not , but heard some yelling
Echoing through our tiny dwelling
Till, at last, the beast was born
And embryonic, it was worn
The finishing touches, soon complete
And I was clothed from neck to feet
In terry-towelling soft as down
Yes, Liz has made a dressing gown.
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