• Oh, their darling little Brinna.
    Their perfect, precious ballerina.
    She loved making everyone smile,
    Though she suffered all the while.

    Dancing and dancing, twirl after twirl.
    They never knew much about that girl,
    Except for that she loved to dance.
    She'd spin and jump with every chance.

    But she dreaded the day she'd start en pointe.
    For her bones were brittle in every joint.
    But when they asked her, she said "sure",
    And then commenced to her torture.

    She felt as though dance was her cage.
    And then she had to go on stage.
    Her bones could handle it no more.
    She fell, and crashed on to the floor.

    There was a gasp, and they stopped the show.
    They asked the audience to go.
    For when she fell, she hit her head.
    Our precious Brinna was cold and dead.