A single porcelain doll with the gentle smile
And a face of pure white - innocent and simple;
Light shadow to the eyes and a faint blush,
Relaxed with hands resting on her lap.
Neatly combed back hair fashioned into a bun -
A beautiful auburn washed out from the sun,
With a few strands fallen loose, lining the face;
To the placid eyes that tell of a time of joy.
Placed on a shelf soon to be forgotten,
In time, dust mutes the smile
Any trace of color becomes faded;
Ends of cloth tattered with caked-on memories.
Each turn of the hour, another day passes
Slowly yearning for the comfort of another;
Every minute, another year
Any chance slowly disappears and in a moment, all is lost,
With every second, another turn of the century
All passes ever so quickly with a blink of an eye.