She was called a late bloomer
Like those flowers
That flaunt their beauty seasons after
But she noticed
That not only her features
Seemed to bloom later
Experiences
Adventures
Not knocking at the door
Kind of bother her
But for once she wondered
How its feels to fall inlove
And how being alive
Does really matter.
YOU ARE READING
Late Bloomer
PoetryShe was like the moon. Part of her was always hidden away. [collection of poems]
