Within
An old leaning house Dreaming on the Shoulder of a hill Beside the
serpentine Road that leads Nowhere
There lives a
Young girl still
Her footsteps patter.
On the wooden floors She wanders
From room to room
Calling out softly
her loved
Nobody's there
Cobwebs cling
To her hair
Doors creak
In the wind
Whimpering
She leans out
A frail question mark
Framed on a window
The nodding fronds
Of trees on the slope
Comfort her
The mist touches
her cheeks
With glostly fingers
Nobody knows
She is there still
So many times the earth Has revolved
So many seasons Have changed
I knock at her door
I whisper
Let the past go
She turns away Unheeding
She is me
My girl hood
Trapped in memories