writing her story

A young girl once sat
Upon a rustic seat
And there was a journal
On top of her lap so neat
Her ankles where crossed
Her hair was curled
And yet she sat and watched
As the other young women danced and whirled

writing her story

A young man inquisitive so
Approached her shyly
Nowhere else to go
And he peered over her shoulder slyly
Asking what interested her so
She merely muttered
Between the scratch of paper and pen

Writing my story again and again

The lads eyes scanned the pages
And deep within a spark began to shine
And as she wrote, so the spark grew
"Lady, please, your hand must be mine"
And so her features showed what she knew

entertwining their story now

His heart glowed warm
From within its pink chest
And so he took her arm
And so she danced with the best
Her dress twirling, amongst a crowd
All watching her coming and going
the silence making her footsteps loud

Stories carry-on on their own

For we all end up as stories
When our time comes to an end
So grow a few morning glories
And be ready for whats around the bend...

Reviews

[Senseless whatever]

Good write but feels forced at times. I like how you made the connection of connecting. From being alone with a journal to be part of something.