girl with a curl

When I was little my Grandma Larsen would say this little poem to me, and I've been thinking of it often with Greta lately:


There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very, very good,
But when she was bad, she was horrid.








Poor baby girl makes a nice meal for the mosquitoes at the cabin.