Seven-year-old Isabella Thompson pressed her hands into the cool, moist dirt of her grandfather's garden. She peeled away the surface like an old scab. Beneath, a reddish-brown earthworm squirmed – ... [+]
Blue has come to visit my hometown,
The unwelcome visitor leaves bookmarks on the worn cobblestone,
I watch children flee to their mothers,
Panic painting their face like a lion at a state fair.
And within their mother's embrace,
They feel the wind as blue wrecks through century old foundations,
I hide in my house,
The sturdiest building in town, built by my own two hands.
I sit by the bay windows,
Made to let in warm midsummer rays,
I watch that light turn green,
But my house does not falter,
Does not crumble.
I appreciate the way the house only sways,
I keep time to the beat of my decorations slamming against the walls,
I watch, silent,
And can only hope to recognize the beauty as the storm passes.
The unwelcome visitor leaves bookmarks on the worn cobblestone,
I watch children flee to their mothers,
Panic painting their face like a lion at a state fair.
And within their mother's embrace,
They feel the wind as blue wrecks through century old foundations,
I hide in my house,
The sturdiest building in town, built by my own two hands.
I sit by the bay windows,
Made to let in warm midsummer rays,
I watch that light turn green,
But my house does not falter,
Does not crumble.
I appreciate the way the house only sways,
I keep time to the beat of my decorations slamming against the walls,
I watch, silent,
And can only hope to recognize the beauty as the storm passes.