Swinging under a sour tamarind tree,
The child's worries ceased to vanish.
Almost like the hopes
managed to be conquered,
With every swing forward
and backwards,
Her ideal mentality flourished across the cotton filled skies that held lies
held her truths,
softer than the hands
that wrapped around her small self.
—NOTVANTE
YOU ARE READING
C.PULLO {IV}✔️
PoesíaIn which I write of what could be pasts, presents, and futures; ©️NOTVANTE
