Dolly

In my childhood, I most remember
a loss that will seemingly always linger.
A doll filled with water was my favorite toy,
it filled me with comfort and never-relinquishing joy.
One day my brother and I cleaned up our playthings
in order to satisfy our father's urgent insistings.
We talked and played and fought while we tidied.
(Honestly, I do not know if it was the cleaning to which we abided.)
With frustration, my father heard our lack of toil,
and was determined to take our fun and spoil.
From the top of the stairs my father imperiled
to throw out the toys that were disheveled
out of the shelves and boxes that were a plenty;
for we did have even more than twenty.
To the threat, he held true
and stormed down with the rage of the ocean blue.
Fear gripped me as I saw my beloved dolly
sprawled in leisure like a Border Collie.
Quickly, I began my fervent payers
that my father would not see her lying there.
In smiting for the lie I had spoken earlier that day,
God told my father to look my dolly's way.
I could not keep my eyes in check
as my father's hands arrested her neck
'Oh, my dolly! Please don't take her!' I began to shout.
But my father did not understand this was no ordinary pout.
Later, a charred puddle of my dolly laid
under ashes of waste, just as He ordained.
Now I am grown from that childhood phase
and over all dolly obsessions I had crazed.
I am a real woman now with this blanket in hand,
for blankets have much more reasons by which to stand.
Now, cold or tired or in need of disguise,
I have a protector that is, oh, so wise.