Pony Dreams

Tug of war between tiny hands and large ones

Dropped inside the bag

 Zipper rasps

Dark is something I am not used to

The girl always keeps the lamp lit

Rubs my mane with grubby fingers that pause then stop with deep even breaths.

I can hear the moan and sigh of the other toys

They call out the girl’s name as they are sent away.

No nursery magic for us

Not enough time to be loved into reality

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