4/28/98
A warm, quiet day,
humidity was stopping by,
it’s the middle of May,
but it felt like July.
An upbeat little girl,
on the steps she did sit,
her hair of golden swirls,
and her eyes wildly lit.
Along strolled her brother,
trouble was he,
she screams for her mother,
oh where could she be?
I cried for so long,
he ran like a wimp,
I tried to be strong,
from happy to limp.
Alone I did feel,
tears streaming from eyes,
smiles I did steal,
with my incessant cries.
Feeling a hand caress my back,
I rub my eyes and try to see,
hatred did the hand’s owner lack,
away my tears did agree.
She gingerly sat by my side,
her arms and mine intertwined,
on her shoulder had I cried,
in her ear I had whined.
Red as a rose,
her cheek brushed mine,
it was then that one knows,
that I would be fine.
the days have grown far,
the nights have passed by,
still sitting on these steps we are,
my mother and I.
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*got an A on this in english
