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Regression

When I was a little girl,
my mother gave me a toy;
it was a doll with pretty cheeks,
and her manner, a little coy.

We would play under the sun,
we would hum a sweet refrain;
and when the day is nearly done,
we would sing a lively quatrain.

We would dream of merchant ships,
and rehearse the sailor’s songs;
we would trace the sky at nighttime
with our skinny, forefinger bones.

When at last our lids are tired,
we would sleep just side by side;
I’d wrap her with my arms
to shield her from the jealous night.

I grew old, but she did not,
The years kind to me perhaps;
I gained some friends she never met,
‘cause I was all she’s ever got.

Years passed by, and I forgot
the friend I hid ‘neathe the bed;
I took the chest where she was last,
and I bawled when I saw her dead.

So I wept for dear childhood lost, and
slumped in grief, and then remorse;
and most of all I longed for her,
and the days that had gone before.

Rain, rain, go away,
little children want to play;
Rain, rain, come again,
and wash my tears away.

 

February 24, 2009

March 29, 2010

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