I'm An Orange Monkey

I'm an orange monkey in China I was made, stitched with much affection and garlanded with braid. Purchased then on eBay and wrapped to make a gift, I was posted to a friend who felt a little miffed. I felt I wasn't wanted when stuffed into a drawer, would I be forgotten, and nameless evermore? From that home some months on I was taken out with care, taken on a journey, though how could I know where? It was in the Village Hall as part of a display; in company with others we made a fine array. People drank their coffee accompanied by cake. No one offered me a slice. Oh how my tummy ached! They paid for orange tickets each with a lucky number; and orange gave me hope waiting there in wonder. Standing close beside me the caller said, "Be still." The tickets duly stirred, I felt an inner thrill. He drew one folded tight revealed as seventy-nine. Forward came a woman and chose a vintage wine. Another one was drawn. I was filled again with hope. But the winner from the back picked out a box of soap. Ticket after ticket drawn one by one the prizes went, and I was left alone all sad and discontent. It was at the very end that I was claimed at last. Trailed behind by my left arm, I felt all hope was past. In a nearby village I was offered up once more. The prize that no one claimed, squashed in another drawer. I languished there with socks all folded up and clean. For such a sleepy friendship I wasn't really keen. On yet another venture, out shopping I was taken and left at AgeUK – unless I am mistaken, – displayed upon a shelf. There customers looked round, a few were glancing up to see my sorry frown. Then one day a child came in, held close by his left arm. Looking up he caught my eye. Like me, had he suffered harm? “That's my favourite colour,” he called aloud and pointed. “Please, oh please! give me! give me!" At last his Mum relented. There he held me oh so close, now at last feeling safe and wanted as a friend. It was a long embrace. And now I have a name which makes me feel right special. I thought I was a boy, but no, he calls me Cheryl. If you seek a moral in this happy ending: Do not bin unwanted gifts, persist with fresh befriending.