a forgotten toy

I, Barnaby Bumblebear, once king of the stuffed,

Now reside in this box, dusty, forgotten, and cuffed.

My fur, once plush, now matted and thin,

Holds whispers of tea parties and battles to win.

My button eye, once gleaming so bright,

Now stares at the cobwebs, devoid of all light.

My limbs, once so floppy, now stiff and forlorn,

Long to feel a child's laughter, a hug in the morn.

I remember the warmth of small, sticky hands,

Exploring my seams, conquering imaginary lands.

I've soared through the air, a brave paper plane,

Rescued princesses, vanquished villains in the rain.

But new faces arrived, shiny and bright,

Pushed me aside, banished to perpetual night.

My adventures confined to the shadows and dust,

Longing for stories, the touch, and the trust.

But hope, like a spark, in my stuffing remains,

That one day, small fingers will brush off the stains.

A curious giggle, a voice soft and sweet,

Will lift me once more, make my forgotten heart beat.

So I wait, in the silence, the echoes of play,

Dreaming of sunshine, on a brand new day.

For even a forgotten, dusty old bear,

Holds a love that endures, a magic to share.