• The little French Doll with the lace on her dress
    Always felt safe in your loving caress.
    Was always your favorite, the very best toy,
    The only companion for you, little boy.

    Your playmate all day, you held her at night,
    Admired her skin, so smooth and so white.
    Saw behind the glaze of her still, painted face,
    Saw the love and the spirit her body encased.

    But you grew up, little boy, and you put her away
    On a cold, lonely shelf, and left her to stay.
    She watched you live on, and she wanted to cry,
    But she always had hope that this wasn't Goodbye.

    She fell from her shelf once, and crashed to the floor.
    Shattered, she lay there, a beauty no more.
    But you picked up the pieces, and put them in place,
    You kissed the deep crack in her still, painted face.

    You held her close the night when you cried.
    Could speak no comfort, although she tried.
    Just stayed in your arms when you needed her love,
    Then was placed once again on her shelf up above.

    So helpless she feels, her lips sculpted closed,
    The dust on her dress, her body still posed,
    The paint on her face is starting to fade,
    She's cold on her shelf; Of the dark she's afraid.

    She watches you hurt, she watches you smile.
    She wonders, and ponders alone all the while,
    If you even remember, how much do you care?
    The bond that you had, is it really still there?

    You still pick her up, and dust off her hair,
    Or glance at her shelf when there's time to spare.
    The little French Doll, heart broken in two,
    Forever she'll wait, and only for You.