Lost Toy

 This poem is about a lost toy



He sits on the end on the bed,

Soft, cuddly, blue fur

A cloak around its neck

His sad eyes pinning.


His tail detaches, but on a string.

A tiny pink bow upon it hangs

Gloomy, glum, always glad

to see a hand towards him come.


Best friend lost, and come again

Pages smell of coffee stains.

Stories told with him by the side

Of a tiny child.


The lantern reminds of times gone past

Singing on streets for Christmas 

Dark, mysterious, and yet

Lit by a guiding lantern set.


Dusky, musky smell to his fur

His mane wiry black

New or old - never ageing

Used and loved by many.


Memories of Halloween,

Cape, Broom, Witches Hat,

Dressing up as cats and skeletons,

Wondering streets and wanting treats.


Sad eyes as he returns

To the end of a rumpled bed.

Perhaps tomorrow will be his turn

In cuddled next to boy. 


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