Forgotten

Forgotten


Skipping rope and throwing rocks.
The playground children scream.
Her whistle pierces through the wind.
Our fun and games must end.
Pushing past to get in line,
we all begin to run.

Looking down upon my shoes.
Frozen still
your feathers at my feet.
I scurry inside.

Angela Minard 2008©

Comments

Anonymous said…
Beautiful, Angela, heartbreakingly beautiful little poem.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
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