Day one.
Two.
Three.
I stare out the window and dare not breathe.
Day four.
Five.
Six.
I wave again and again.
The echo every time is a sign I cannot dismiss.
Day seven.
Eight.
Nine.
I run out and leave a plate of biscuits at the tree line.
Day ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
The plates are returned with jewels and flowers on them.
YOU ARE READING
Dainty Miss T.
PoetryDainty Miss T's parents have kept her isolated ever since her sister died. Confined to a cottage at the edge of town, she has nothing exciting to occupy her time and no one to keep her company... Or does she?
