Words come out of it, aligned in perfect silence. A messenger of black on white, a slinky fellow drawing lines, of thin and soft graphite
Although a human shape I wear, Mother I never had; And though no sense nor life I share, in finest silks I'm clad. By every miss I'm valued much, beloved and highly prized; still my cruel fate is such by boys I am often despised.
Shorter than my four siblings, but easily the strongest, Sometimes I wear a funny hat.
whats new but old
a old doll