Close

The girl who I raised from youth

Her small hand that gripped mine

She vanished, disappeared like fading ink on paper

Disappeared like a faint whisp of vapour

Taken, stolen from me

Take, stolen away.

 

I can feel her empty presence

The phantom imprint of her hand on mine

For the time that she has left me,

The trees hide away their Autumn leaves.

The memories I once shared have been blown away

with the breeze.

Perspective of Demeter


By Tricia N.

View more poems from Hornsby Girls High School, 2013