Big, blue eyes,
Long, golden, curly hair.
She stands there on the shelf,
In her flowing white dress.

I wonder if she’s lonely.

She stands there, alone,
As she has for years.
Her big, blue eyes staring into nothingness.
Her eyelids never moving.

And I think she must be lonely.

Sure, she’s had some company.
But they’ve come and gone through the years.
She’s alone once more,
The shelves around her filling with dust.

And I know, she has to be lonely.

But then, a spark of hope!
Someone’s coming.
A little boy, no older than eight.
He looks. Sneers. Then walks away.

Leaving her there, alone.

Lonely.