Sometimes I stand still as a statue,

I watch as people go about their days

hardly giving me a thought,

sometimes never noticing me at all

why would they? I am but a doll

with a checkered past – they

can tell by my condition, but they

can only guess at how and when and

never give a thought to what I’m

thinking about, but why would they? I

am but a doll. Sometimes they are

stressed and rushing to and fro worrying

about things that amount to nothing

in the long run, or things that do

(though not often, to be frank), and I

would like to reach out and tell them

all I know and comfort them and tell

them how it all ends, every time, and

how little time they actually have to

do the things that are truly important

(they know that, I’m sure, deep inside),

but it wouldn’t occur to them to

turn and listen to me, or that I know

and have learned anything at all.

Why would they? I am but a doll.

by Cher Bibler