Of nominal worth

In the warm uncertainty of the room

I felt a cold confidence rising inside me

And I murmured to myself her name

"It's Anna. Her name was Anna."

 

The dander lay on the pillow, forlorn,

And the dolls, dejected, in a row.

And I knew she lived a quiet life;

Occupied, but forever alone.

 

I scribbled a score, and swiped the page with well-worn ease

And pressed it into the Professor's hand

"Of nominal worth. She lived and died quietly."

Suppressing sobs, I quickly left.

 

You see, I was never much cut out for this work.

It hurts too badly to prospect a life…

And I quit that afternoon.

And pushing 90, I was off to find the site

Where Anna had been laid far too soon.