February 1, 2015

 

 

She often sits

and wonders why,

when as a child

she was so shy.

 

If asked a question,

she would blush;

in her pants, a wee,

came with a rush.

 

If asked to sing alone,

in the assembly choir,

A well rehearsed faint,

she would acquire.

 

A shrinking violet.

A timid tilly.

In navy knickers,

she felt so silly.

 

She hated school;

preferring not to have gone.

Dyslexia never recognised,

til she was twenty one.

 

 

No Comments »

No comments yet.

RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URL

Leave a comment

You must be logged in to post a comment.