A mere thirteen of green plastic
Standing against childhood foes
Too soon to attack imagination,
And winning reality.
A tricycle painted in rust of years
Abandoned for two wheels
Piled in the rubbish heap.
A tired dog doesn’t bark
Too many has ignores him
None come except the birds
To peck at ants by the fence
A doll from her crib
Sits on a pillow of her bed
Still cuddled during thunderstorms
But bedridden by age.