Pritha's pomes

Some rhyme, romance and a wee bit reason maybe, bear with me ?

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It is I…

The little girl with the braided locks

In her pinafore with the matching socks,

Her eyes filled with stories untold

It was I, a little miracle, waiting to unfold.


That lovely lass, in the afternoon sun,

Full of life, gaiety, and mindless fun,

Falling in love for the very first time,

It was I, trying to make my verses rhyme.


That beautiful face behind a veil,

Those quivering lips as life set sail,

A friend, a lover, a consort for life,

It was I, smiling through every strife.


That joyous face filled with pride,

Those skipped heartbeats, when a little baby cried,

That best friend, and a punching bag,

It was I, a mother looking for innocent moments to brag.


The silver locks glistening in the sun

The laugh lines that wrinkle at every pun,

Those sunsets when the sky turns to gold

It is I, reflecting moments young and old.


The lover who has been romanced in the light of the moon,

The mother who was dismissed, a moment too soon,

It is I, you have always found by your side,

In all my roles, as a woman of pride.



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