|More of my drawings here…|
When you hear the bell strike twelve,
You know but for this teddy, you’re by yourself,
In eight hours or less,
You’ll wish to feel only this amount of stress.,
The nurse will come,
Her aim to tease and antagonise your tum.
This time tomorrow,
You’ll be full of pain and sorrow,
In ten hours or so you’ll crash through the theatre door,
You will fight, struggly and renounce your sight,
This is all before the main show.
This warm, soft thing,
Gives you the stength,
Not only to quietly sing,
But to know you’re going to be fine when your hear the lift bell ping.
Through it all,
These fibres woven tight,
Never reject you even when you bite,
In and out of this hospital,
Not so any longer as my softy has gone.
Ward rule number one,
Mess with another kids snuggle,
Expect a scrap or a struggle,
We all know it’s just not to be done.
The people that placed me here,
Are the ones who stole me from your soft ear,
You went to a better cause,
Or that’s how they justified it after a short pause.
When by eye was cut,
They bandaged you up too,
I loved you so much but I’m not sure you knew,
The tears you absolrbed,
The words that you spoke,
The fears you way-laid,
Nobody as much as me, happy could you of made.
The sun is rising,
I can no longer sing,
You are dead,
Hears the nurse,
My breakfast I am fed.
To another child you don’t belong,
Knowing you’ve been assaulted and damaged feels wrong,
Once more as an adult I wish I had you to hear my missery song.
Through thick and thin,
Sight and none,
Until adolecence from cot,
I miss you so and everyday,
I’m full of woe,
I only know I can say,
I love you my little snuggly grey.
Weather you were a bear or a cat,
You were warm, soft, absorbant and fat.