You Pull It's String

You pull it's string, it's button is covered in song. You laugh at it, it looks up at you, sleepily falling and rushes and it skins one bare knee. It's knee weeps one lolly, is solitaire dropp of you. Then it's red, it's by you, and it's hidden, coveted, septet from the world that views, as the world was it's call, it is now for you. It is swept up under your greatness, living canopy, to clear your bandit, it rests on, while you sing, to it. Who will catch the dropp, of it as you watch, it fall?