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


Sonnet 25


When I was young, I feared the basement’s dark,

The height of diving boards, and tempers cross,

And even, now and then, an angry bark,

But most of all I feared becoming lost.

That sinking feeling one cannot forget,

When in a fit you realize your plight,

That mother’s gone, and you begin to fret,

The world so large and looming in your sight.

But there is peace that comes of being lost

Within the pages of a little book;

Within the lives of others, even crossed

With tribulation—by their friends forsook.

These days, it is the only rest I find.

To lose myself, in someone else’s mind.

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