Little Miss Margaret sits in a pout,
She and her Dolly have just fallen out.
Dolly is gazing with sorest stare,
Fitted dejectedly back in her chair.
Angry at Margaret, tearful and grieved,
Sore at the spanking so lately received.
Pursed are the maiden's lips close as can be,
They are not speaking, Miss Dolly and she.
Five minutes passes in silence and then,
Margaret's ready for playing again.
Dolly unbendingly sits in her place,
Never a change coming over her face.
Up mad goes, Margaret dropping her pout,
Clasping her playmate she whispers in doubt.
Let's don't play and cry, it's too much like true,
Let's make up Dolly I ain't mad is you?