All of twelve -
uncorrupted, unformed,
she stands on tiptoe
and pushes against
the gates of Time.
Her skirt whirls -
she's a curly thought;
she is heard singing
by those who know (it).
Time's rendered
but a tremble -
her feet are rhythm bound.
Who knows what she'd grow to be -
a sonnet, a ballad, verse profound?
uncorrupted, unformed,
she stands on tiptoe
and pushes against
the gates of Time.
Her skirt whirls -
she's a curly thought;
she is heard singing
by those who know (it).
Time's rendered
but a tremble -
her feet are rhythm bound.
Who knows what she'd grow to be -
a sonnet, a ballad, verse profound?
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