...The story of a girl in London, England


Sonnet 20


I’m standing, near the edge, about to fall,

And listening to pitter-pattered rain

Which started coming down, and through it all

I’ve stood here, soaking wet in loss and pain.

I stare across the whipping, raging sea,

Alone. Acutely, tryingly aware

That any moment I will fall, to be

Consumed among the floods awaiting there—

And yet, I stand. For what, I cannot think,

And yet, I wait, and bear the stormy winds.

I wait, I watch, my toes just at the brink,

For clouds to break, for sunny skies to win.

I’m tossing out a line, a bit of rope.

I’ll wait here, at the edge, and I will hope.

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