On her mother's step
On her mother’s stone step, she sits and dreams
The same step she cleaned and crossed so often
Her dress, crisp and clean in the sunshine gleams
This backstreet beauty, rare rose in blossom
What whims flicker through her wandering mind
Perchance what prospect does life hold in store
Will her journey be gentle not unkind?
Shall her story be one of less not more?
In her soft hands, there is cradled a book
Pages fully filled, they make her think
Will her account be worth a second look?
Perhaps, with her own pen, and her own ink
Though gone now sunlit days of drifting dreams
And moons, waxed and waned, like yesterday it seems