Dolls here and there,
dolls scattered everywhere.
A pretty dress, a glowing face—
one dreamy childhood place.
What once was bare,
now clothed by hands so fair,
with a promise of gentle care.
Dolls here and there,
dolls scattered everywhere—
by the mirror, their fixed smiles glared.
Once gleeful chats and graceful show of mirth,
now drowned by silence in the air.
For such eyes feared to see
one certain memory
of a doll swinging by the tree.
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YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink
PoetryA piece of soul in ink, and unto the paper it spilled. A collection of thoughts that rhyme from a wandering mind.
