China Doll

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  • Love
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  • Life

    China Doll

    How brittle she turned out to be,

    How easily she broke.

    Who gave her heart so willingly

    With every word he spoke.

     

    Before the summer reached its end,

    He made her beg and crawl,

    Then left her shattered there just like

    A broken china doll.

     

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    Azzrella commented on China Doll

    04-03-2013

    Heartbreak, quick and concise. This reminds me of the poem/song; I've got a pain in my sawdust. I feel like that sometimes. A little bisque doll and a little rag doll / And a dolly imported from France / Were sitting one day on the shelf of the store / With a doll that could wind up and dance / When all of a sudden, the shopkeeper heard / A scream that rang out thro' the store / And this was the plaint of the little bisque doll / That made such an awful uproar I've got a pain in my sawdust / That's what's the matter with me / Something is wrong with my little inside/ I'm just as sick as can be / Don't let me faint, someone get me a fan / Someone else run for the medicine man / Ev'ryone hurry as fast as you can / I've got a pain in my sawdust They took her away in a hospital van / And the whole town was filled with the blues / For ev'ryone thought it was quite an odd thing / And the papers all printed the news / The surgeons looked wise and they all shook their heads / And asked her just where she was sick / "I think it's 'appendi-sawdust'!", she exclaimed / "And won't you please do something quick? Oh, sad was the day for the little bisque doll / For they cut all her stitches away / and found the seat of the terrible ache / "'Twas a delicate task," they all say / For none of the surgeons had ever before / Performed on a dolly's inside / They tried to re-stuff her but didn't know how / And this was her wail as she died

    gmcookie

    04/03/2013

    I guess that kids outgrow their playthings. So it's inevitable that they would all wind up with broken hearts. I suppose the moral in that is that we should avoid being people's playthings...

    The true philosopher and the true poet are one, and a beauty, which is truth, and a truth, which is beauty, is the aim of both.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson, American Poet (1803-1882)

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