She turned it in her small hand
Making its inanimate form live
With her imagination.
These things that were loved
Rested in her heart as she dreamed,
Slept under the coverlet by her soul,
Were always part of her being.
Carried her forward to a time
When they might be replaced
By some living breath.
But in her memories they remained,
Her playthings always remained.

Love Mary for Evelyn xxxxx