"Baby Jane, poor Baby Jane,
She wandered off into the rain.
For weeks we hoped and prayed in vain,
Just wishing she'd turn up again.

We searched the river, searched the streams,
And dreamt of her in wistful dreams.
The moon did wax, the moon did wane,
But still no sign of Baby Jane.

When summer died and autumn came,
They found her in a sewage drain,
(At least the parts that did remain),
Of lovely little Baby Jane.

We buried her on a cloudy day,
Beneath a sky so cold and grey,
And wished and prayed we had her near,
And cried such lonesome, tragic tears...

Perhaps we wished and prayed too hard,
For now I see her in the yard,
And in the mirror, on the stairs...
Sometimes it seems she's everywhere!

She grins her silent, moldy grin,
And beckons me to let her in
By scratching at the window pane
Whenever it begins to rain.

I think she wants one final hug,
But I just can't get past the bugs.
Our blessing has become our bane;
The spectre of our Baby Jane."

-Edward J. Allen III
December 19th, 2006


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