I am an old action toy, worn and bare.
My tattered self, with tattered clothes, waits for the box of throw-away toys.
There is no one for whom I am held for security.
No longer young and good-looking, I am left alone at home.
The day shall come when this stuffed toy shall be tossed or given away.
Now my empty eyes and scarecrow brain notice the passersby saying how natural I look.
One small child is lifted, and tears flow down her cheeks.
She says, "Goodbye."
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Author:
JDB (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 20th, 2024 16:02
- Comment from author about the poem: Thinking about the passage of time.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
Powerful work.
I hope so. Feedback is helpful.
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