Friends to Ashes, Toys to Tears.
I still remember well the day
my mother threw my toys away:
the woollen war-time home-made bear
and Gloria, with dark brown hair,
my rag doll, Annie, who for years
had soothed away my childhood fears,
a china doll with little teeth
and silken clothes with pants beneath.
These childhood friends who'd shared my bed
were suddenly just junk instead.
I, silent, watched them turn to ash.
What wouldn't burn went in the trash.
Others, too, I don't remember
turned into a glowing ember;
all but one doll, new and blonde,
with which I couldn't seem to bond.
I'll never know, I couldn't say,
what made my mother act that way
but, after more than fifty years,
it still reduces me to tears.
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