POEM
On Sundays we went out
Sundays were special in my family
There was a whole routine and route
Sometimes when I would wake-
A quiet silence would greet me with an ache
I would lie still and wait-
I always took the bait
But I knew; that silence was unmistakable
and my poor heart was so breakable
They must have just forgot to wake me up.
Estranged Daughter 
Leave a comment