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While going through enormous piles of paper today (and tossing quite a bit, thank goodness), I ran across another one of Mom’s doll poems that begged to be shared.  I always enjoy finding scraps of her writing, as it feels like a mini-visit with her.  Enjoy!

Perfection

The dolls that are pure and perfect and fine

Are the dolls some ladies have in mind

When they want a new one for their collection.

A head that is broken, half there, from a dump

Is what makes my hands itch to hold

And my heart to jump

At the thought of its “could be” perfection.

So dolls that are pure and perfect and fine

Stay on the shelf and out of my mind.

While the parts and pieces, orphans and waifs

Are gathered in boxes all over the place,

And so in honest reflection–

The dolls that are pure and perfect and fine

Are for others to buy, to love, to find.

As for me, I’m content with my collection,

(Well not quite — I always want more — another arm here,

A box of parts there, a small bisque head

Without its hair, and on and on)

Without exception the dear dump darlings

Are to me perfection.

By Hazel Pender, January 8, 1981

Six years later, I'm still going through boxes and drawers of Mom's playthings (photo taken at Fresno Doll Sale, 2014).

Six years later, I’m still going through boxes and drawers of Mom’s playthings (photo taken at Fresno Doll Sale, 2014).

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