And she is a poem.



And she rhymes.



And she stands out in a crowd



With no one by her side.



And she lives happiest



When she lives in the past



Drawing on memories



And childhood and things like that.



And when people smile.



They chuckle then move on



And she is glad to bring joy



But no one stays long.



And she is passed over



By big words and big names,



By people with metaphors on their minds



And mystery in the way



And her welcome is worn.



And she knows.



And she fades into lost memory.



And so it goes.



And twenty years from now



They will think back



And wonder what happened



And where she is at.



But they won't remember



Her name or her face



Only that she once was



A part of time and of place.



So they will look.



But not find.



And they will mourn for the poem



That they lost to time.



bouldin@stolaf.edu