My Two Dolls

My Two Dolls

I'm a fit, manly young lad,
athletic, sharp, strong,
but am touched with a very feminine fad,
to play with dolls, but don't get me wrong.

Two dolls to me are very close,
enough to lift me when I get morose,
enough to liven me up with a cheer,
enough to laugh with me, or to together shed a tear.

Close enough due to fate and time,
without those, this would be a different rhyme,
but to lighten this verse, teasing them is a pleasure,
their loving retorts I greatly treasure.

My mother being the first doll, among other things, of course,
thinking, working, usually in sweet repose,
as I support myself on her small shoulders, smilingly does she sigh,
to tease back, to counter riposte, under dignity does she try.

The second being mother's eldest sister, but wait,
teasing her is not easy, so smart and childlike is her gait.
Every time, without fail, she gives me a hard run for my money,
as funny as life, as true as love, her words, ginger and honey.

As I play around today with these two dolls, all mine,
doing what I used to consider below my years,
playing, poking, laughing, learning, still manly fit and fine,
I'm filled with pity with people who don't play with dolls, my peers.