From My Ancient Journal

Flipping through the pages of an "ancient"journal, I found this untitled poem that I wrote at age twelve:

Are the words on this page real or just fiction?

Do they float like a feather on the breeze?

Do they bounce off the walls with no direction,

Finally settling to the ground with ease? 

Can you pick them up and put them in your pocket?

Can you blow them away with a sneeze?

Are they small enough to fit in Mom's locket? 

Tell me, tell me, I need to know Please.