Tug of war between tiny hands and large ones
Dropped inside the bag
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