Before my twelfth birthday, my mother said to me <br />The doll you asked for will be the last... I guarantee <br /> <br />You are getting too big to have such a plaything <br />You must grow up soon... only young children cling <br /> <br />For my final choice I selected a poised bride doll <br />She was refined and seemed well versed in protocol <br /> <br />Her delicate fingers held and artificial petal bouquet <br />She had a white satin dress and a netted veil spray <br /> <br />Her eyelashes fluttered as she opened her blue eyes <br />Her features were created to be admired and idealized <br /> <br />Her glistening auburn hair was set with curly locks <br />She had white shoes with snaps and woven nylon socks <br /> <br />She was too pristine and proper to take outside and play <br />She sat upon my dresser posing patiently... on display <br /> <br />Now she is wrapped in a soft blanket and placed in a drawer <br />My childhood treasure is protected as a keepsake to adore <br /> <br />Her expression has not been affected by the world’s rapid pace <br />Five long decades have not creased her smooth sleeping face <br /> <br />Her demure stature is a reminder of that birthday desire... <br />As my aging hands gently caress her yellowing satin attire <br /> <br />revised 2/12/2011<br /><br />Theresa Ann Moore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bride-doll/
