Lucy Weatherby, cuddled up in her bed, Drifted along toward sleep with a smile on her mouth, “I was pretty tonight,” she thought, “I was pretty tonight. Blue’s my color⁠—blue that matches my eyes. I always ought to wear blue. I’m sorry for girls Who can’t wear that sort of blue. Her name is Sally But she’s too dark to wear the colors I can, I’d like to give her my blue dress and see her wear it, She’d look too gawky, poor thing. He danced with her For a while at first but I hadn’t danced with him then, He danced with me after that. He’s rather a dear. I wonder how long he’ll be here. I think I like him. I think I’m going to be pretty while I am here.