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Come Back to Mama
The upturned green basket lies
Untouched, alphabet blocks spilling out haphazardly.
‘HAPPY’, they spelt,
A truly cruel parody.
And next to the blocks, a white frock
With tiny pink roses
Weeping red for their owner
Who never was found.
The toys stare at her mother.
Glassy eyes veiling the turmoil
Beneath their plastic smiles.
Perhaps they know.
A laugh echoes, unsubdued,
Bouncing and trilling like the softest of chimes,
A barely perceptible sound
That shakes the curtains and rattles the drawers
Yet its elusive owner was never found.
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