a true friend sometimes is the faded and worn stuffed animal of childhood

She sits there –
alone –
from dawn through dusk,
gathering the years around her
like a warm blanket shroud –
enveloped in a cocoon of wisdom.
Ah, the sights she has seen;
the secrets she would tell -
if only she could.

She sits there –
silently –
not moving, not feeling,
hiding laughter behind sealed lips.
Joy she does not know; yet,
warmth and strength she freely gives –
comfort for anger,
tears, fears, and sadness.
She almost speaks, but cannot -
only the child hears.

She sits there
watching –
in her place of glory;
frayed ribbons on dress and apron,
long ears –
all grimy from loving fingers.
Love and security
bound by tissue filament,
seeking life
in a body weakened by the years;
the cloth rabbit -
my childhood heroine.