She didn't look
Much diff'rent from
The others.
Her skin be
The color of cocoa,
Her teeth, shiny and white.
Her way of speaking
Ain't much diff'rent
Either.
Sure, she speak like
Mr. Thomas at the school house
But when she's around
Us folk, she speak just fine.
But still,
That young 'un was
Diff'rent. You could see
It in her eyes.
Them eyes seen more things
Than any eyes in the county.
She would tell us about
The desserts and oceans
She'd seen.
Yet that child never
Step foot past
The state line,
Much less the borders.
She'd tell us about
Places and people
We never knew existed.
That there child
Was something special,
I would put flowers
On her grave every
Sunday right after church.
She was special but
Not many people
Take a liking to anything
They don't understand
Or won't accept.
Sometime,
It's hard being special
In this world of ours,
But I'm sure wherever
She is, she's somewhere
Where the accept a person
As they are.
2 comments:
dang...makes me think a bit of what happened to her...its hard being special..a bit of truth in that and many dont try to understand and bridge that gap
she's an old soul. she'll be back if things aren't finished. young souls don't always understand, they need the time of no time to pass through them. thanks for Beauty
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