The child next door has a wreath on her hat;
Her afternoon frock sticks out like that,
All soft and frilly;
She doesn't believe in fairies at all
(She told me over the garden wall) —
She thinks they're silly.

The child next door has a watch of her own;
She has shiny hair and her name is Joan;
(Mine's only Mary).
But doesn't it seem very sad to you
To think that she never her whole life through
Has seen a fairy?