Glory was a spoiled child,
she’d always had her way,
her father gave her all she pleased,
clockwork toys and games to play.
Glory always took the gifts
without a word of thanks,
her father never minded much,
his true love – in the bank.

But soon his love of coins and cash
was washed out with the river,
for bills were overflowing them,
and he could not deliver.
Glory cried, she wanted more,
she wanted toys and balls,
her father had but one gift left -
the most beautiful of all dolls.

“This doll here is a special one,”
she listened as he told,
“Inside she is magnificent
with a glowing heart of gold.”
Glory smiled now with delight
at the unbelievable story,
the pretty porcelain painted doll
sparked interest within Glory.
The doll was small and delicate,
her face was clean and white,
with dark red lips and bright green eyes,
the doll was quite a sight.
She hugged and kissed her every night
before she went to sleep,
her father sold her other toys,
the doll was all she’d keep.

Money now was not so good,
they bought their food with pennies,
her father’s ways had made them poor,
dirty clothes and empty bellies.
The briskest night since it had gone
Glory shivered – then tensed in cold,
she shouted out with inspiration –
“My dolly’s heart of gold!”

She found her doll and brutally
she ripped the tiny dress,
she tore and threw the soft entrails,
she stabbed her dolly’s chest.
But nothing but soft cotton
escaped the tortured dolly,
her guts were sprawled out on the floor,
and Glory started bawling.

Her father ran to see her then,
“Dear Glory! What’s the need?”
He frowned in disbelief of her,
and her desperate display of greed.
Glory received no more dolls,
she had nothing more to keep,
she felt her own heart made of stone,
as she cried herself to sleep.
1998