Wild Wind
When I was wild as the windcycling down hill, legs outstretched
hair in a halo
and a glow
that only a nine year old has
From demure dresses
to oversized jeans
I was a demon
on the downward trail.
Loud and clear
on a boat setting sail.
Dancing in movies
home made plays
in the drawing room
the plinkity plonk
on a black Bechstein
We made up songs
and in the wild days
those were the signature
moves that defined
and grew like seeds
in a child's mind.
I dream of the wild wind day
nine years in the making
and a faint scar
left on the unblemished
chin of a child
too untrammelled to be trained.
Poetry by Elle
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Written on 2021-10-30 at 10:30
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Chaucer Whethers |
jim |
ken d williams |
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by Elle Latest textsTwo Little CatsHills Not the End Cinders Oh perfect Day |
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