A doll was tattered and worn
Made with white porcelain
And tangled white hair;
worn out from despair.

Sitting in a graveyard,
Nowhere else to go.
Leaning against a tombstone.
A place she cannot leave alone.

And the snow begins to fall
On her tattered silken dress
Thinking of what she once had
A soul like her that she called "dad"

Nothing to be heard for miles,
The silence is almost dreary.
The only sound you hear is snow
Not even from the ground below.

A small knock she hopped for
A small sign of presence.
But the heavy snow fills the space,
Until it covered the dolls white face.

The forceful wind began to blow
the piercing cold hurts her so
An icicle falls from her eyes of blue,
This was the moment she finally knew.

She realized he couldn’t speak
That dreaded disease had made him weak.
All is white without a trace.
She closed her eyes for one last time
As she felt his warm embrace.