Once there was an old woman who collected hundreds of dolls.
She had no family no kids.
She only lived with her dolls.
Whom she described as her children.
She would not let anyone touch them.
Or even take a look closer at them.

They need to rest, she always said.
They go out to play every night and always return home before dawn.
That is why they need to rest all day long. They need their strengths for the nights.

She even sang to them. Tucked them in every morning in their boxes.

Go to sleep, my sweet ones.
Deep in your slumber i want.
Night has grown darker.
Yet my love for you is even sweeter.

Sometimes she talked to them like talking to living kids.
She combed their hair.
She polished their porcelain skins.

When the old woman died, her neighbours buried her right beside her house, under a walnut tree.

Ever since then the neighbours have started hearing a choir of crying sad voices every night.

*Go to sleep, my sweet ones.
Deep in your slumber i want.
Night has grown darker.
Yet my love for you is even sweeter.