The Doll

You may ask yourself this question…How important is a doll? You may think in the scheme of life…not too important after all… But I would beg to differ…because somehow my little girl found a way of all the dolls upon the shelf…she picked me that day. She chose me over all the others…it took her quite a while I like to think there was something in my eyes…or the crookedness of my smile. From that moment we were inseparable Inside…outside…in any kind of weather We played…we ran…we laughed…we drank tea We went everywhere together. I loved the times when she was happy…when her smile was innocent and bright When she would toss me in the air then hug me with all her might. I was glad to be there when she was sad…or to help her face her fears Those times she used my only dress to wipe away her tears. I remember the day she left me in a restaurant… I was frightened and lonely without her arms around me and I remember how relieved I was when she came back and found me. This went on for years and years…all I needed was an occasional sew-up But although dolls remain the same…little girls all grow up. She didn’t need me like she used to…she spent more time off by herself and I went from sleeping next to her…to a spot upon her shelf. Where I now sit and watch her…remembering our laughter…and our fun and the moment I resign myself to thinking my usefulness is done… The instant I start thinking I’m just another doll filled with stuff she gives me a little hug or says I love you and I think…that is enough Enough of a reason…enough proof…enough of a diagram to remind me how important I was…and how important I still am.