On an empty street,
in a deserted alley,
among the smelly bins,
lay a tattered doll.
On a full moon night,
into the shadowed space,
walked a fragile child,
to make her home among the cluster.
On a broken stool,
in the narrows path,
the child began to hum,
urging the doll to sleep.
On the adjacent road,
in a car that stood still,
sat a woman sobbing,
grieving the loss of her child.
On the clouds above,
in the folds of white dust,
the angels made a plan,
and the breeze blew gentle.
On a soft feather bed,
in a lovely huge house,
the child slept smiling,
while the woman sewed the doll.
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