A little girl felt things
for which there were no
words,
her thoughts bubbling like
a spring.
So much she wanted to say,
but her words were lost
to the future;
too many words interfere
with a girl's growing.
The Poet
But a girl has a right
to be herself, to
fly free;
and,with her growing all done,
she wrote memories she
could see.
She wrote of life and love,
of transitions, and
pain;
and the lost poems of a little girl
unknowingly return, now
and again.