Broken Dolls

The broken dolls sit on a rocking chair,
Loved beyond compare.
And new ones on the way.
Stored in a box, and forgotten on days, 
When in certain ways, 
Things would be happier, with fresh pie and good news. 
They would sit with their lace lined frocks, flowing auburn locks.  
Until they felt a hug, a kiss. 
They would someday reminisce.
Now scars on her cheek, her dress needs a tweak,
As does her auburn hair. 
Loved beyond repair. 
And new ones on the way.