Saturday, June 13, 2009


A little girl, a little chair,
A quilt, a light, a shawl,
A quiet little corner where
She's playing with her doll.

The others come, the others go,
And she could see them all;
They did not interrupt her, though,
As she played with her doll.

And sometimes eyes filled with surprise
And paused along the hall
And noticed she (How could it be?)
Looked so much like her doll.

Dedicated to my grandma, whose nickname is Dolly.

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