All alone she sits,

the unwanted doll.

The little girls pass her up,

in favor of the pretty porcelain ones.

For years she's there,

collecting dust,

they all hate her.

“Dolls,”they say,

“should not be so bright,

should not have green skin.”

One girl wants her,

wants the unwanted doll,

but the girl's mother forbids it.

And still she remains,

the unwanted doll.

The mice steal her hair,

the moths destroy her clothes.

The little creatures want her,

if only for sustainment.

Now she's only scraps,

two cold plastic eyes and stuffing.

But still,

for a time,

she was a wanted doll.