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Her name was Thumbelina she was ugly as could be
Not soft and cute like dolls today yet beautiful to me,
I held her tight I told her stuff she was my dearest friend,
When Sandy ripped her arm off I knew she would not mend,
I carried her to mama and placed her in mom's hands
She said bring needle and some thread I'll fix her up again
With tender hands she sewed each stitch with thread that did not match,
All I wanted most of all was Thumbelina back,
As I became a woman and dolls were put away,
All I have is memories of some far yesterday,
And then it was on Christmas a few short years ago,
A box with shiny paper tied with a pretty bow.
I peeped inside It could not be, a treasure from my past
I lifted Thumbelina out Oh what is this I ask
Her limbs intact no mitch matched thread around her arm you see,
My sister searched this whole wide world to find this doll for me.
My grandchild begged to hold her once with hesitation done
She gave her back I looked at her Oh! my where is her thumb.


  1. I haven't commented on each one separately but I sure love them all.

  2. This brought tears to my eyes. I am a sucker for childhood love toys, blankies, and dolls. I slept with a white dog under my arm until my husband moved into my bed and took her place; I was 21. I still have that white dog; Snowball. I let my oldest daughter "borrow" her, I let her give Snowball a nice home on the highest shelf. When my daughter asks if she can have Snowball I have to laugh at her face when I say a firm, "NO." There are some things that can't, just cannot be shared.

    Congratulations on the return of your prodigal doll.