Memories

• Tia Antonopoulos, Grade 6
• Poetry
• 2018

With the wind blowing in my hair,
And I breathe in the fresh air,
With no one to care,
I sit in my lonely chair.

As I watch the water flow,
No one will ever know,
What I held to throw,
At the old man in the snow.

It was a memory of mother,
He was kind of my brother,
Though he was some other,
He was still my brother.

It was a watch,
That pretended to be a stopwatch,
But all it did was bloom?
Had been pasted on from you know whom....
My mother.