Like the mystery of seafoam
a bubble was blown
and she was curled inside.
As noiselessly as a baby's rattle,
pinkly dropped, is swallowed up
in a fringe of long green grasses,
daylight began as a film on glass
and night starred her reflections.
Lonesome she stood to watch the progress
of others more thematically currented by.
As she waited she began idly to scribble
oceans of words, which were then
tightly capped and stored away in heavy opaque bottles.
Wait cooled blue on her cheeks
on her lips, the knight
who stood more amorous
over her intricate sand castles.
Written by my mom,
Melanie Bloodgood, 1976
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