Sister, do not grow
Up too fast.
I worry for you
And your future.
The lilacs and peonies
Trail behind you,
Then you're floating
On an ocean of dreams,
This is how I miss you.
Harsh words
That are necessary
For me to hear.
My best friend in disguise.
Change- you are constant
Change. Follow your
Instincts, and always
Be kind.
Thank you.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}
