(Written in 2014, this poem describes my reaction as a four-year-old every time my dad looked at me, amused, and said, "Danielle, I think your imagination is running away with you again.")
My imagination Is running away with me-- They say that to me all the time, And every time they say it, I cannot help but see a thing That climbs in through the window, And grabs me by the waist and dashes Over field and meadow, Farther far and still away Until I cannot see Where it has vanished in the hills With a very helpless me. And never and ever again will I The thing and myself see.
2 Comments
10/24/2022 12:49:25 pm
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11/4/2022 08:14:50 pm
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