The Doll

The doll stands in my wardrobe
A sentry to the years,
As a babe in my dear mother's arms
To my angsty, teenage tears.

She once held pride of place
In my ever-changing world.
Shepherds crook and porcelain,
Bonnet, tawny curls.

But age made me forget her.
'I'm all growed up.' I said
And that bonny doll who stood by me,
With whom I often played

Was thrust into the darkness,
With only mem'ries to recall
The happy girl who smiled on her
Though barely four foot tall.

The way they spent the summer days
In tree tops, hedgerows, fields
And winter months before the fire,
Marshmallow sticks to wield.

But now she looks upon me,
And I gaze at her too,
Wondering if she ever liked
The newfound woody view

And if after years of darkness
Remembering happy, country lanes
The face the doll now beholds
Is different, or the same.