Everything passes. It has to. That's the beauty and tragedy of it.
I was a little girl, nimble and shy.
eager to laugh, eager to cry.
Buoyant with dreams for my days ahead,
with perhaps a few doubts drifting in my head.
Life was much simpler, either black or white.
Small, inane things filled me with delight.
The world, it seemed lay right at my feet,
And problems were foes that I could easily defeat.
I’m much older, a “woman of the world”
I’ve been primed to do as I’m told.
In a world that has mercilessly clipped my wings,
I remain a caged bird that futilely sings.
Of hopes and dreams and the beauty of innocence,
And longing for that elusive freedom with a vehemence,
And wondering how wonderful it would be
If we’d all remain children eternally.