THE child next door has a wreath on her hat,
Her afternoon frock sticks out like that,

All soft and frilly;
She doesn't believe in fairies at all
(She told me over the garden wall)

She thinks they're silly.

The child next door has a watch of her own,
She has shiny hair and her name is Joan

(Mine's only Mary),
But doesn't it seem very sad to you
To think that she never her whole life through

Has seen a fairy?