A Lady Whose Name was Fadora

A lady whose name was fadora,

took hold of a string on the floora,

before she could scream and let go of the thing It pulled her right out of the doora,

Fadora was yanked to the street,

yelling, "Stop me!" to each soul she'd meet,

But to her dismay, she was whisked on her way,

down the alley, and right off her feet,

As she flew through the air she clutched tight,

and held onto the string with her might,

the crown down below just watched her go,

for the string was tied to a kite,

So the moral, my friend, is quite clear,

if it's littering string that you fear,

just leave the mess,

it's better, I guess,

than high-flying, kite-flying, dear.

A lady whose name was Fadora,

Took hold of a string on the floora,

Before she could scream and let go of the thing,

It pulled her right out of the doora,

Fadora was yanked to the street,

Yelling, "Stop me!" to each soul she'd meet,

But to her dismay, she was whisked on her way,

Down the alley, and right off her feet,

As she flew through the air she clutched tight,

And held onto the string with her might,

The crowd down below just watched her go,

For the string was tied to a kite,

So the moral, my friend, is quite clear,

If it's littering string that you fear,

Just leave the mess,

It's better, I guess,

Than high-flying, kite-flying, dear.