Here she stands motionless on the scale

My dear sweet young sister enthralled by a fairy tale

The very one whose small feet pattered to her grade anxiously

Weighing not enough to fall from her veil

My sister sits beyond the one who instructs

A logic of reality is what she constructs

Slowly her wonderland twirls into a bland conception

For I see her gut, and in it tucks

The calendar melts and my sister feels gravity

She realizes the ground will not crumble with activity

Yet she winces as she walks fearing the worst

That others would realize her inequality

My sister stands motionless on the scale

Baring her naked to a doctor, so frail

Feeling the relief of the pressure

My sister falls dead to her tale