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Mar 16, 2007 at 11:58am
#1472029
Gilded and painted, the doll stretches its pinkish limbs straight forward as if to surrender, ecru hair floating on two sides of her head, coarse, thick like the whiskers of a sea-lion. She stares ahead waiting to grow into a child’s life, to be forgotten at the end, in the attic; her future less than a promise because there is only so much to a doll. Prompt: Write a poem about a doll ** Image ID #1219461 Unavailable **
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