Don't Mess With Your Sister's Doll

by

Kenneth R. Bays

To my sister I am writing this poem,
About something I did when we lived at home.
It was in the year of nineteen sixty,
I did the deed that made family history.
She had a doll she loved so true,
Without her baby she didn't know what to do.
Lizzy was her baby doll's name,
And what was to happen was really a shame.
One day at home, all by myself,
There was Lizzy sitting on her shelf.
I grabbed the scissors off the desk,
Cutting her hair, I made such a mess.
Lizzy now sat in her little red chair,
Bald as a cucumber, she had no hair.
Needless to say, I paid the price,
For what I did, almost cost me my life.
After the bruises and cuts did heal,
And my fingers again could touch and feel.
Forgive me please, to my sister I said,
And she replied,"maybe after I'm dead."

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Life's Miracle
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

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