The red, rough, roses lay on the ground.
A girl looks up with grin.
"Thank you," she whispers to the sea.
She doesn't know who left them.
She doesn't know where they'd be.
Who left them?
It was me.
YOU ARE READING
Sidewalk Talks
PoetryThis is a collection of poems that I've written. These are just the things a quiet girl is too afraid to say in the moment. Some of the pieces are just made up stories, but most of them are based on personal experiences.
A Gift
The red, rough, roses lay on the ground.
A girl looks up with grin.
"Thank you," she whispers to the sea.
She doesn't know who left them.
She doesn't know where they'd be.
Who left them?
It was me.
