Seventeen

The swing still blows upon the breeze
Her laughter rides the wind
I almost hear her begging please
Push me once, again
There’s her doll, her teddy-bear
There’s the dress she used to wear
Where’s that girl of yesterday?
Tell me, when did she fly away?

There’s the ribbon from her curls
The ruffled frocks of lace
The plunder made for little girls
Our secret hiding place
I touch each treasured memory
And wonder when she ceased to be
The little girl who once had been
Is all grown up…and seventeen

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin