The Major and the Minor (Poetry Version)

Poor Doll Dear

            She’s ripping at the seams, do you not see?

The threads holding her together are worn thin and frail from years of love and more of neglect.

They pull from her, gaping fluff and puff -and beans she bleeds.

Buttons watch but they see not,

Delicate curls fall from her cloth scalp,

The gorgeous Victorian dress is ripped and splotched,

The soles of the classic Mary Janes fall from tired feet,

But the saddest is that the little hands that loved her to pieces are gone,

The poor dear is so alone and so miserable- all this, even without a soul.