There’s a shop on a  little street in Tasmania that is full of dolls. I don’t see the point of them. What are they for? Who would want to buy them?




They don’t cry

They don’t think

They don’t laugh

They don’t blink.

They’re not warm

They’re not cold

Full of  kapok

Maybe mould.


They look so fine

In satin and lace

But death stares out

From every face.



© copyright Kathleen Fitzmaurice


About rhymebydesign

Mother, grandmother, mainstream poet and short story writer. Started off in life as a teacher, but then moved out of the classroom in to educational administration. Curious about what makes people tick, including my own tickings! I enjoy long walks, thought provoking books, theatre and leading a simple life. I offer a customised poetry writing service for any occasion you might like to mark. Contact me at for a quick quote.

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