The
Stories
Penned
By
Miss
Small
Tell
Little,
If
Anything
At
All,
Only
A
Portion
Of
What
She
Really
Longs
To
Say
To
Portray
Words
Buried
In
The
Everyday,
All
The
Way
Back
To
The
Diary
Her
Mother
Read
After
She
Had
Gone
To
Bed,
Secrets
She
Had
Wished
To
Keep,
Pilfered
While
She
Feigned
Sleep.
So
It
Is
That
Miss
Small
Writes
Books
With
All
Her
Dreams
Turned
Inside
Out
To
Show
The
Seams
But
Hide
The
Eyes
Behind
Her
Knowing
Disguise,
Laugh
And
Sign
Another
Improvised
Autograph.