The Dolls House
Love is love and love will stay,
When lifeless hand has slipped away.
Working hard for many months, he built her little home,
The fitted kitchen, windows too, the bathroom taps of chrome,
The gable end was sculptured as the image of her face,
And every chair and table had its special little place.
He handed her the key that day, his daughter’s eyes were wide,
Oh, that day was special as he showed her round inside,
Nothing missed; her face was bliss, the tiny kitchen stove,
Who knows what dreams will whisper when enchanting thoughts are wove.
His daughter loved that little home and each and every day,
She dreamt of guests arriving and the compliments they’d say,
The entrance door and staircase, the bedrooms all complete,
The furniture and carpet laid for countless little feet.
Her home her own, her reveries, would never disappoint,
The house to her was real enough and size beside the point.
Those careful chosen curtains and the little family placed,
Each child will have their fantasies reflected in their face.
The years passed by and he did too for time demands its toll,
Yet often in her mother days, she played her childhood role,
Then came an offer for the house, to cross her palm with gold,
But gold when young still turns to rust but children can’t grow old.
Michael Walsh) 21.09.13