A small stuffed lamb

Missing an eye

His only friend

When he starts to cry

He’s now fifteen

Still sleeps with the toy

He gets made fun of

By the other boys

But they don’t know

What the lamb means to him

What memories it holds

Both good and grim

His mom made it

Before she died

She sewed it while

He sat beside

Now his lamb

Is worth more than gold

He’ll love it till

He grows old