Before my twelfth birthday, my mother said to me
The doll you asked for will be the last... I guarantee

You are getting too big to have such a plaything
You must grow up soon... only young children cling

For my final choice I selected a poised bride doll
She was refined and seemed well versed in protocol

Her delicate fingers held and artificial petal bouquet
She had a white satin dress and a netted veil spray

Her eyelashes fluttered as she opened her blue eyes
Her features were created to be admired and idealized

Her glistening auburn hair was set with curly locks
She had white shoes with snaps and woven nylon socks

She was too pristine and proper to take outside and play
She sat upon my dresser posing patiently... on display

Now she is wrapped in a soft blanket and placed in a drawer
My childhood treasure is protected as a keepsake to adore

Her expression has not been affected by the world’s rapid pace
Five long decades have not creased her smooth sleeping face

Her demure stature is a reminder of that birthday desire...
As my aging hands gently caress her yellowing satin attire

revised 2/12/2011

Theresa Ann Moore

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bride-doll/