a poem

I wish I could whisper
in the eight year old ear
of the girl with pixie hair
and clashing orange earrings

Someday, someday

There will be a wash of colors
that blend so easily with yours.

And I wish she could whisper
her secrets to me
of the fairy countries
that came so easily to her

in those days,
those lonely days

which made the truest colors:
the ones I wear now

that never clash.Desktop85-001

One thought on “a poem

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