Fractured Crystalline Forms

It sat on the shelf, not collecting dust;
Children came and went, fleeting touches
But it was not alone,
a sea of soft, brown fur huddled in a row.
Beaded-black eyes, eagerly staring ahead
A stark contrast to the bright, white, metal shelves.

It has yet to have the pleasure of
Being loved by a little boy or girl.
But it knows hope in the
Laughing of kids bouncing off
The plastered walls littered with
Pretty plastic boxes and wooden horses

One fine, warm August morning
A woman came and stood in front of its shelf
This lady searched and searched, taking
Her time, she needed something perfect,
A fluffy friend for one not yet born,
It was picked up and wrapped in a box,
A pink bow for a roof now.

That little girl loved it for decades,
Even now, it sits high in her closet.
Watching over the now grown girl,
Comfortable and content on its white shelf.