---

When I'd learnt that Little Fussbudget
is her name for that is who she is,
I sighed, sincerely promising to myself
I'll be carrying pride no more
'cause I don't know what it's for.

A farm at my front appeared;
I was scared, but this is not
something I have really feared.

She's gone, she's gone,
but she says,
"I want here, at home.
Not in that chaotic dome."

The breeze greets me like how
I think they would greet
the little fussbudget.
But I wouldn't worry and complain.
My name would just be elated,
but she's not going to love the pain.

I'd just enjoy the home she called,
the farm she enjoyed.
This place is not mine; her home
is never mine.
My childhood won't be like hers,
the beautiful sunsets with
the loudest and heartiest laughters.

"She used to run away from dogs
that scared her since birth.
She used to bring a pink guitar
to a good place on earth."

That's what her grandma said.
She took me in her arms,
told me things 'bout the little.
She wanted me to stay
just as I wanted to say
I'd miss her.

I never want to say,
"Grandma Lovely, good-bye."
Tears will flood my left eye;
it's the second time I'll cry.

She's a treasure but
without a gnome;
she has heart and arms
that felt like home.

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