My Cardboard Balcony

Is that Little Savannah I see, sitting on her grandmother's front porch, playing her purple ukulele while her brother sells cold pink lemonade? Is she wearing dandelions in her black hair again - little yellow heads popping out of a inky lake, weedy whimsies ready to say hello? How much is that lemonade your brother's selling, Savannah? 'Cause I've got a dry throat and an aching belly, and I could use something sweet before the bitterness settles in again.