At first she loved me with wondrous pride,
Night after night, a happy constant by her side.
Hand-written stories narrated solely to me,
For only I appreciated her special 'vocabulary'.

In a couple of years, she gouged out my right eye.
As she pulled out my left arm, I masked a sigh.
A laborious poker face; by her, I was smitten.
And unlike the others, at least I wasn't forgotten.

At the age of three, she made loneliness my mistress.
Stowed me away; locked me alone with my distress.
The darkness of the room surpassed by my own.
Yet my unrequited adoration set firmly in stone.

Twenty five years later, she found her old teddy bear.
'He was always my favourite. Treat him with care.'
'But mommy, he has no eyes or hands...' she said, sans guile.
In the blink of an eye, she spied a sad, crippled smile.