Site hosted by Build your free website today!
Dorothy Doll was the prettiest of all
No one ever suspected
She would take such a fall
For her last moments of life
Her hair blew in the wind
And her skin just as supple
As it always had been
When she fell to her death
That shallow, watery grave
We could not help but ask
Could she have been saved?
We may sit here and ponder
Just what was the cause?
But what Miss Doll felt on that day
Is no business of ours.