Two little girls, feared
Fingers and faces smeared
With jam, were drawing
On a blank sheet of paper.
Peeking over their shoulders
Refusing the sight of anyone.
Shielding their pride and joy
From harm and ruin.
Then running, scrambling,
Coming towards me,
And I was presented,
With a crowning glory.
A golden image of sweet nothings?
Or the blatant sign of all things evil?
YOU ARE READING
Sweet Dreams: An Anthology of Poems
PoetryWe dreamed a dream, Where music would stream From forth the sweet words That take flight like the birds. Off the page they flow, As you may well know, Filling the calm air, With a certain flair. A certain thought here or there, Shall be plucked fro...
