the porcelain doll

I had this small doll, As a young girl would, She'd get sat on the shelf at night for I could animate her in my mind into the late hours of the day, She wore a red petticoat, and a white button blouse, Her face had turned an ashy grey but in my mind she was still so beautiful, her cheeks we red rosy, the colour of running through fields on chilly mornings, But one day I ran back from school and she wasn't on the shelf, But on the floor limp, I tried to make her move, tried to make her sing and dance and do all those things, That she could once do, She wasn't an innocent doll anymore for she'd seen pain like no other, she'd felt pain like no other, And even as an adult I had tried to take her to a thousand and million doll makers to fix the life she so lacked in her eyes, They said it wasn't something you could buy, And so she sits there still broken, mourning her life, Now it's been years but I won't ever forget that night.