To Corinne D. Rodrigues
Behind the car and the Box for coins,
a doll was born.
She didn’t have a name,
today she doesn’t have a theme.
She was a queen behind glass,
today any doll among others.
She felt alone,
she felt had done something wrong.
She kept love in her heart,
then ask her owner to set her free.
Her owner was God
too little
is five.
Once upon a time
a little girl,
that traveled a lot.
She’s from U.S.A,
She went to Brazil.
She’s from samba,
she left rock’n roll.
It dances too badly,
but it spread charming everywhere.
She hasn’t been queen.
Her owner plays without moving.
Her owner can’t move.
But she’s too glad.
God isn’t sick or sad.
The writing doll,
has been a book.
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