Doll.

Doll.

Paper puppet on a string.

I curtsy, backflip

and dance at your hand.

I bend to your bidding.

I surrender to your will.

You've got one end of

my string tired 'round

your finger.

And the other tied

sweetly with a bow 'round

my neck.

Any which direction you

pull.

   Love, you'll find I'll

always go.

 

But dearest does it comfort you

                to know?

 

            It's by your hand not mine.