There she stands tall,
Wearing radiant colors,
Hair tied in a tight bun,
Make up with white blush.

Her glass beady eyes looking straight forward,
With a haunting tale of sorrow,
A chilling sight it must be,
To be a statue on a shelf.

The look she gave,
Chills run up my spine,
With stories of the untold,
A swoosh of cold air,
Brushes against my cheek,
Every time I see the doll...