And she is a poem.
And she rhymes.
And she stands out in a crowd
With no one by her side.
And she lives happiest
When she lives in the past
Drawing on memories
And childhood and things like that.
And when people smile.
They chuckle then move on
And she is glad to bring joy
But no one stays long.
And she is passed over
By big words and big names,
By people with metaphors on their minds
And mystery in the way
And her welcome is worn.
And she knows.
And she fades into lost memory.
And so it goes.
And twenty years from now
They will think back
And wonder what happened
And where she is at.
But they won’t remember
Her name or her face
Only that she once was
A part of time and of place.
So they will look.
But not find.
And they will mourn for the poem
That they lost to time.
bouldin@stolaf.edu
