This afternoon I pulled out a seldom used book and a folded piece of paper slipped out onto the floor.  It turned out to be a poem I wrote when I was probably around ten-years-old.  It’s not half bad so I thought I’d share it.

Where a lone bird flies
and a wind blows lightly
I find my way
Where the sand sparkles
as much as the stars themselves
I make a wish
What a sight atop a mountain peak
I see my home

As tempting as it was, I didn’t edit anything.  This is it how it appears in my scribbly handwriting.  It’s funny that I should find this now as I’ve just recently started writing poetry again.  I guess it’s always been part of me.   :-)

c.b. 2011

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