In the great outback, near the Wombat’s track,
Lived a girl called Difficult Lil.
And the currency lads and the wan’dring nomads
Had a destiny to fulfill.
The lass of dark hair, her voice rich but rare,
An enigma to all she knew.
Back home once again, nearly losing her skin,
In Beirut from whence she last flew.
Her mum is the moon, she hopes to see soon,
She talks to the lady from Mass.
The moon lady’s tough, she’s stern and she’s gruff,
And doesn’t put up with much sass.
But Lil is so sweet, whenever we meet,
We’ll all try to give her a hug.
She won’t be much fun, she’ll probably run,
Or pick out the first one to slug.
She looks at the phone, but leaves it alone,
For Difficult Lil is quite shy.
She may call one day, if I have my way,
And if not I think I might cry.
But Nikki and she, may one day call me,
And giggle across all the miles.
I’ll listen with care, and knowing they’re there,
Will brighten my day like their smiles.
I wait for that thrill, but Difficult Lil
Is stubborn as an outback mule.
She shakes her head no, she’s taking it slow,
And no way can I overrule.
It’s sure getting late, I guess I’ll just wait,
"Eventually" surely must come.
But here in the cold, I’m just getting old,
And she’s always talking to mum.
Adding your comment:
Thanks Paul for posting these words and this picture. Our grandchild should think more highly of herself! She is a living doll and almost bites my head off every time I say that!
she has BEAUTIFUL hair by the way 
