Lonely
Big, blue eyes,
Long, golden, curly hair.
She stands there on the shelf,
In her flowing white dress.
I wonder if she’s lonely.
She stands there, alone,
As she has for years.
Her big, blue eyes staring into nothingness.
Her eyelids never moving.
And I think she must be lonely.
Sure, she’s had some company.
But they’ve come and gone through the years.
She’s alone once more,
The shelves around her filling with dust.
And I know, she has to be lonely.
But then, a spark of hope!
Someone’s coming.
A little boy, no older than eight.
He looks. Sneers. Then walks away.
Leaving her there, alone.
Lonely.
Long, golden, curly hair.
She stands there on the shelf,
In her flowing white dress.
I wonder if she’s lonely.
She stands there, alone,
As she has for years.
Her big, blue eyes staring into nothingness.
Her eyelids never moving.
And I think she must be lonely.
Sure, she’s had some company.
But they’ve come and gone through the years.
She’s alone once more,
The shelves around her filling with dust.
And I know, she has to be lonely.
But then, a spark of hope!
Someone’s coming.
A little boy, no older than eight.
He looks. Sneers. Then walks away.
Leaving her there, alone.
Lonely.