That little linen doll from December
She gave me with her heart, I remembered.
By her tiny hands thus not as perfect
But ‘twas a memory I couldn’t neglect.
My little baby really tried her best,
I saw her stitching at night without rest.
And when that needle jabbed her soft, white skin,
She’d be strong, hid her tears with a large grin.
Then that day had come, her doll was finish
December twenty-fifth, I would not wish,
The Lord took her away, out on the street.
Just a young child, her youth’s still incomplete.
As we pull her out from the twisted wreck
Wrapped in her arms, something I wouldn’t expect.
There held in tight, her little linen doll...
The picture was so vast, I must recall.
I will never forget, that fateful night,
When the angels sang to the blinding light
But she is gone, what’s the use of regrets?
What was left will always be in my chest.
Our memories and times we were together,
Sewn in her doll, sealed by her endeavor.
Though the doll and my baby have come to past,
They remain in my heart, forever to last.