The Lonely Doll

In tribute to all things petite

Pretty and sweet

This verse I offer and greet

In desire to replete

A portrait painted from truth

But imagined to soothe

For Beauty, eternal in youth

Loves pity, compassion, and ruth

I stumbled out of the saloon

An evening last June

And heard a distant, mournful tune

Under the dyad moon

My Soul, though with wine I did douse

The song did arouse

I followed, a drunken louse

Unto a cardboard house

And through the window to see

A doll before me

Singing to the mirror was she-

Was it a plea?

Her room was all dresses and bows

For a doll needs her clothes

She leaned in to breathe from a rose

And stood on her tippy-toes

With a brush made of jade and pearl

She straightened her blonde curl

I saw the sad eyes of a girl

Under teardrops, aswirl

She went to her canopied bed

And laid down her head

She picked up her sheep-doll and said

Something with dread

Though I was too drunk to make sense

I felt her Essence

And turned to leave this pretense

For night, black and immense

I remember that singing doll

And her grievous call

As a little reminder to us all

Whose sadness wasn’t so small