The little one picked up her mama's box,
And jumped to the vanity mirror like a fox.
Smeared the red lipstick on her small lips,
And smiled with her hands on her hips.

She twirled and sang a song,
Of a made up language but it held the meaning no wrong.
She bounced in her frills,
Her curls jumping up in her own thrills.

Rhyme Scheme: aabb