Figures made up of thin, yet strong paper,
The pure joy they convey will never taper.
They smile at you with a painted-on face,
An expression which time will never erase.
Held tight within two tiny, young hands,
Which follow all of imagination’s commands.
They will never be caught looking like a mess,
As those fingers will always choose the right dress.
Full of bright colors, so neatly filled in,
With petite features and a dimpled chin.
Choosing any sort of scene to portray,
The hands will have them put on a play.
They construct a mansion of cardboard walls,
In which to place these paper dolls.
They lie there for years, lost little toys,
But what never dies out is their irreplaceable joys.
And many moons later, you open the door,
And there, fallen down on the thin wooden floor,
Lie those friends which you missed from so long ago,
The familiar faces which you shall always know.