Mary and Rosey
Mary cradled her dolly, one she called Rosey.
Soft cotton stuffing, an orange pastel petticoat, and shiny button eyes.
Mary loved her dolly since the year she turned five.
That day, a special gift had been given,
And one taken by surprise.
Flooding pools of tears, Mary sobbed aloud.
“How?” she asked, and “Why?”
A day which Mary had never before felt
The true power of what it means to cry.
Mary treasured her dolly dearly.
To Mary, she was a comfort, a smile,
And an armour Mary would often confide
Dolly was never too far away,
And Mary never felt left behind.
Surprises come in many forms, even the horriblest kind.
But dolly had given sweet Mary a memory that, when revisiting,
Only joy appeared to mind—
One that will last forever.
Although no longer in presence,
Both hearts remain entwined.
The day sweet Mary had just been told
Her great-grandmother Rosy had died.
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