The rag tag group marched in loose formation, singing and stomping their feet,

And they beat old spoons on dented tin cans, marking the procession’s approach,

To make it known the princess would soon follow, riding in her royal coach,

In a parade commencing at the ice cream shoppe on the sidewalk of Main Street.

The coach, a battered wagon of red pulled by old Mr. Smith’s faithful dog, Rudy,

Followed the little group, proudly following behind them, so carefully and slow.

‘Cause in the wagon was the regal throne, a ragged green and yellow striped pillow

And upon it sat the royal princess, a radiant waving and smiling 4-year-old beauty.

Smiles were on all the faces, even those grouches who usually wore a scowl;

Her admiring public lined up and down the sidewalk, folks from her little town.

She wore her Sunday best dress, and even though it wasn’t an elegant gown,

Draped from her shoulders was a regal robe, her mom’s new purple towel.

Sitting proudly was the princess, wearing a raggedy ring of daisies for a crown,

While holding her prized scepter, an all day lollipop, as she smiled in regal poses.

And in her tiny little arms, she held a big ol’ bouquet of faded polyester roses

As she smiled proudly, waving to all as the parade proceeded through her little town.