Doll… (A Poem)

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.             -Buddha

My pretty little doll..

Has beautiful eyes of blue

Hair of blonde, curds and whey

Oh I do love my doll,

My pretty little doll…
My mother’s doll, pristine and clean,

Her china skin smooth

Her smock without a tear,

Oh I do cherish my doll,

My pretty little doll…
Oh I do hate the doll,

They say its my grandmother’s,

One and all.

With chipped teeth and missing hand

Knotty locks, coloured like sand

Her smock no longer gossamer,

Beyond repair

Her skin tarnished and faded grey,

Misplaced, misunderstood they say

Piercing cracked eyes of blue
Apparently she hates me too…

(Please do not copy or reproduce this poem without permission)


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