My Little Glass Doll

I wrote this my sophomore year of high school :) i was proud

My little glass doll

that my mom did give,

so fragile and sweet

I would hold for as long as I live.

The porcelain so cool

but was warm to the touch,

I will always remember

how much she did trust.

When I was down

and needed a friend,

she was always there

to lend a helping hand.

And from my hands

he did take,

my porcelain doll

I watched him break.

So no more was my little glass doll

her rosy cheeks were gone for the while,

her knowing eyes could never see

and her precious face no longer smiled.

Reviews

[Michael G. Smith]

But, it does, her sweet face lives on in you and this poem's space. I sympathize with you I had the original G.I who went with me every place. Don't tell my wife, but he's hiding out in my truck's toolbox.