When the lass was young and tender
She held me on her lap
And brushed my locks so lovingly
Before putting on my cap
She took me to her parties
Tiny dishes filled with sweets
I sat among her other dolls
It was always such a treat!
She sat me in a special place
Away from all the others
I knew I was the treasured one
She often told her mother
I was crafted for this special lass
Her companion I'd always be
But as she grew she often forgot
As I watched so wistfully
I noticed Mum took other dolls
But always left me there
I waited through long days and nights
But the lass seemed not to care
One day her Mum sat on the bed
With tears full in her eyes
She wore a dress of plainest black
And her sadness made me sigh
Then suddenly she noticed me
And took me from the shelf
"Our tender lass is gone for good."
She muttered to herself
She carefully removed my cap
And brushed my tousled locks
"I cannot bare to part with you,
and I'll crochet you brand new socks!"
If a doll so finely made as I
Would be allowed to ask
I'd want to know what did become
Of the little tender lass
~~~
Karen Shaw Matteson
©2002
Read more of Karen's poetry at
Lasting Light Poetry
