That's not the end of the world, <br />they say, as they stand huddled in groups, <br />Watching tiny fragments of an infinate hazy jigsaw <br />fall sharply from the clouds <br />(Who are burting to relieve their backs <br />of this aching, heavy burden) . <br />I, with my tight, mahogany curls, <br />cling to the welcoming coolness of the lamp post, <br />Papillon perched gallantly on my hand, watching <br />(as he always does) as mother calls: <br />'It's raining, sweetness, run along or you'll catch your death out there. <br />I didn't know what death was, but I wasn't about to <br />loiter around long enough to catch it. <br /> <br />I grin cheekily as mummy lovingly wipes the raindrops <br />from my nose with her red spotty handkerchief, <br />My smile proudly displaying the brilliant gap where <br />my two front teeth used to live. <br />Mummy trotts off to the kitchen to see to dinner and leaves <br />me in the hallway to discard my puddle-splashed clothing. <br /> <br />I sit myself down on the doormat, <br />delicately untieing the laces on my <br />Fawny-pink boots, <br />a present from Nanna Mouritz in Italy. <br />I begin to struggle as my dainty fingers <br />become viciously entwined with the spitting, selfish laces, <br />And in a panic, Papillon springs to the rescue <br />and flies heroicly to my feet to help <br /> <br />untangle me, <br />to FREE me, <br />from this horrible mess that I dropped into.<br /><br />Twilight Whispers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/her-unfinished-verse/
