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The Doll
 
There is a doll
upon the floor
once well loved
but loved, no more.

Her soft blonde curls
are now a dusty gray
her flowered apron is torn
a memory of an prior May.

Her eyes china blue
and once were clear
now devoid of life
of hope, of cheer.

She once was a gift
long, long ago
a childhood companion
through happiness and woe

It was storming when we left
and moved right out of town
I watched the house disappear
the rain was crashing down

When we finally arrived
for we had travelled long
it was when we unpacked
that I realized she was gone.

By m.winterstarv

© 2018 m.winterstarv (All rights reserved)

 

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