No Other Child Has Just The Same Garments Poem by Mark Heathcote

A seamstress took pity on me
She clothed my ivory, frail bones
And whispered into my shell-like ear
It's because I love you,
That you're here in this dressing room
These fabrics that I've woven
Have been specially assigned to you,
No other child has just the same garments
These were tailored solely for you,
Whatever you do, child
Mind you, don't soil them
And then they'll stay forever new.
And you will be forever blessed.