She does not recall
the day we met.
The sky was gray,
the ground was wet.
And there she was,
a small
scant form,
abandoned there
upon the floor.

For only pennies
was she mine,
she could not move,
she could not cry.
The years had left her
high and dry,
my dearest Daisy,
with stormy eyes.

I could not let her
stand alone.
Her weight would tear
her leather bones.
I could not set her
on her back,
or else her eyes
would surely crack.

I’d hate to hear them
shake within
that dome beneath
her cold,
white skin.

She could not tell me
who she’d been,
so long ago
and way back when.
She’d come to me,
and here she’d stay,
from Germany,
so far...