A Rhyme for C |
Soft written for the girl so fair
With attitudes like mine,
As all the jokes fall in-between,
This poem’s a sisters' sign.
At eve, from east-opposing coast
On late-sent winds I say,
Read even though your eyes fall tired
And soon your head must lay.
It matters not that we’re apart,
Or that I’m lost at sea,
Or that your hair is doubly blonde
Unlike our pedigree.
Yes it is true; you’re adopted,
The secret files will tell—
Oh now don’t cry, ‘twas just a lie
To torment you so well.
See? We still laugh; it matters not
That we traverse apart:
No time can break a bloodline strong,
No space can rub our start.
So grow up, fine, I guess that’s right,
But promise me one thing:
We’ll still meet where the side lane ends
To have ourselves a swing.
For when days stretch and light is grey
And I am cast aside,
I’ll walk that lane with my last dream,
I'll race you to the slide.
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