When she was but a lass,
Underappreciated and young,
Often rested on tree limbs,
In the moonlight there she hung.
Til one day, t'was realized,
She scarcely could be found,
All that once had mocked her,
Slippery smiles turned to frown.
"What are we to do?" They cried.
"How dearly we miss her so!
Her body petite and slim,
Surface soft and white as snow!"
Indeed she left things better,
Than they were before she came,
Her touch was a comforting whisper,
And Charmin was her name.
Until one day she came back,
But not enough to go around,
A mighty makeshift tournament,
Only the toughest stood their ground.
Victors took her home and placed her,
A queen next to their porcelain throne,
At last receiving attention well deserved,
No longer a plaything by teenagers thrown.