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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.
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