Her neck wilts with the weight of her head,
a sleepy daffodil ready for bed.
Her face is a powdery pink,
just like those pick ‘n’ mix shrimp.
Her black hole eyes are sinking
in seas of blue with sunlight twinkling.
Her feathers are fiercely ruffled
like a robin red breast in the wind
(a symptom of too many cuddles).
Her body, a rotund rowing boat,
curved wings as commas keeping a sentence afloat,
secured by rope legs anchored by feet
the shape of fleur-de-lis
