Diving in her little trunk
where, her lost paradise sunk.
No time left to collect marbles,
as she longs for a world of marvels.
Sneaking to the lighthouse, she hides.
The hand that feeds, she bites.
Like a flower blooming near the swing;
here, after the long rain comes her spring.
Pictures of her, ringing the church bell;
wasted memories fading like sounds in a seashell,
as she waves her Mothers a last farewell