Childhood · London

The Wait


A girl all of fifteen

So genial and genteel,
Swayed like a tree
At her favorite spot, by the sea;
Her giggles filled the air
With a charm quite rare;
She picked her pebbles
And blew those soap bubbles,
Which naughtily at times chose
To pop right on her nose;
Those waves kissed her feet
She tasted the water, oh not-so-sweet!
She wrote with her hands
On the golden sands
Her favorite names
And played her games
With sea shells and stars
Soothing her scars
Of a wound still livin’
But long forgiven
For, she knows better
It was not just petter
Sweet-bitter
As those memories hit her
She continues to sway
By the tree, to this day
Longing for her gait
And hoping for the end to wait.
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4 thoughts on “The Wait

  1. The poem is like modern art in some sense..one can draw so many inferences from it!! 🙂 U r doing it from ur heart now!! This is flow which will take u where u ought to go!!

    Like

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