Cotton Product

Tangible and small, worn down through the years

Easing nightmares and foolish fears

Given at the age of 6, a gift created not born

Easily becoming tainted, later torn.

Enduring fun from my dog Lassie, not just my own,

Being gnawed and treated as if a bone.

But not one bone in this body would be willing to replace,

Such inanimate object, which my mom would soon distaste.

My childhood memorabilia, meaningless to everyone but myself.

Once a companion on make believe fantasies, now living above my dusty shelf.

Expressing love and care while cradling this stuffed toy

Never being able to thank it, for bringing me so much joy

A faded black and yellowing white

is my stuffed penguin who will never take flight.

But flight is only for those with dreams not grounded in reality

For those who have not realized maturity in its totality.

Reflecting and reminiscing from time to time, I have realized the end game

Years will go by, leaving one with only memories for good stories

which, will reveal regrets and endless missed opportunities.

I however, relieved to say, have a handful of good tales to be told

And to that, I thank the cotton product that has not yet let me grow old.