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