Doll

In the attic's gloom, where whispers dwell, Lies a doll, in dust and cobwebs fell. Once cherished, held in a child's embrace, Now forgotten, lost to time and space.

Her porcelain skin, now cracked and worn, Eyes that gleam with tears forlorn. Silent cries in the shadow's thrall, A heart that aches in its silent call.

Amidst trunks of memories, she's lain, A sentinel of the past, bearing pain. Each layer of dust, a story untold, Of laughter and love, now echoes cold.

In this dim corner, she does reside, With only the spiders to confide. A relic of joy, now solitude's bride, The doll in the attic, with beauty that died.

So let her tale be a tender plea, To remember those lost to history. For even the neglected, have tales to share, In the quiet dust of the attic's air.