The End of an Era

When we turned thirteen, my cousin said it was the end of an era and the beginning of an error. I wrote this poem for her.

you were a bird prepared for flight

a beautifully colored peacock

ready to soar into the night

your cage held by a metal lock

I hid my head inside the sand

though free to fly around

my size and fear kept me on land

my burden was the ground

you strutted out of your cage that day

you didn't need to fly

you left me all alone to play

and you didn't say goodbye

forget the days we spend together

it's the beginning of an error

Author's Note

When we turned thirteen, my cousin said it was the end of an era and the beginning of an error. I wrote this poem for her. It's supposed to be a sonnet, but I wasn't sure if there was a set number of syllables, so I didn't bother with that.