I have a little china doll, a figurine,
she stands in pride of place on my bookcase.
Sometimes from the corner of my eye,
I think that I can see her cry. I wonder why.
But when I look to check what I have seen,
her painted smile is fixed serene
and then she winks at me.
Can this be the start of some odd malady?
She sometimes gives a quiet sob, that I
seem to hear with my ear. Really queer
I don’t believe that I’m insane. But why
should I imagine such strange things? Oh dear,
She has just stuck out her tongue at me
and smiled a wicked little grin. How odd
I’ve had her for years, What can she see
in me she hasn’t seen before. I nod
involuntarily, .She lifts her skirt
and starts to flirt with me, shamelessly.
Perhaps she has been unhappy for a while
and wants me to make her smile. It might be
a figment of my imagination
or is this actually happening.,
Maybe it’s only a sublimation
of the pain I feel. She starts to sing.
an aria from Madame Butterfly.
This is absurd. Her voice is very clear
the sad wistful longing makes me cry.
I wish that she was real and she was here.
She would make my loneliness disappear
and we could join in wanton dance. And drink
Champagne, eat caviar. But you my dear
are just my little china doll I THINK.