Story of one girl by Ann Wood
"I'll tell you about a girl.She, the tale, is not the happiest.
But I already know - believe me, that's right,
that there is a sense in the grain of sadness.
The girl is slightly old,
to call her a woman is not like.
Because if no one is looking at her,
she is still running with the clouds.
In the rain, the umbrella does not open.
In the snow, however, gloves despise.
She'll smile kindly at the cloister.
And in the wet sparrows will stare.
Sometimes she's terribly tired.
Most of all. And of all things.
It never became mature ...
To be mature is unusual.
Life lessons not learned.
But she can recite Shelley.
It will always flood you with questions,
her daughters are not white.
And with it you will always be in the exam -
she does not forgive hypocrisy.
He has a talent and carries it.
To give away. And give it away ...
If you ever meet her, tell her
that the clouds are of utmost importance.
Or don't say anything - hug her.
It's a big deal that it's wet with rain. "
Poetry by Ann Wood
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Written on 2020-05-01 at 16:05
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