A Wounded Bunny

Precious doll, broken inside,
cowers in a house of fear.
Only five, fair and lonely
eyes swim with wounded tears.

She has not known love,
passed about like a broken toy.
She crawls even further within,
baby bunny grows a tough skin.

I know this lost childhood.
Punished as a child slave,
born to wait on others,
taught to stay in my place.

I bend to her eye level.
Trust unknown, she backs away,
this tormented forgotten prize.
Beauty hides in terrified eyes.

She should be riding a bike,
picking wild flowers,
dressing her dolls,
not fleeing hands that crawl.

I must earn her trust.
She holds the key
for healing and self love,
a rebirth in her soul’s sea.


By Kathie Stehr