Wish upon a wishing well, 
A pocket full of sand. 
I picked a bouquet of forget-me-nots.
They wilted in my hand. 

An old apple head doll,
Pinched and pruned,
and impeccably dressed.
Lay on the floor
for a well-deserved rest. 

Soft tiny triangles of fabric
Filled a plastic bag 
'Merry Christmas,' she said 
And my heart began to sag. 

And the dresses drifting down
to the ground, turn into mud.
Triangle pieces 
Land with a thud. 

And the water is wet.
And the rain is wet.
Yet.
My tears run dry


That old familiar tune plays on...and on....and on...and on. 
And time passes by.