When did I make the transition from child to nan? I don't know.
She is still here somewhere, running through the grass so green, where no
other feet have been.
Anticipating all that is still to be seen. My eyes look out from a body I do not know.
Nan thats what they call me, "Who is she? An old lady tired and gray, not me.
I am young and gay, just look at me, don't you see the child dancing there
without a care.
Nan how is she?"

by Loretta Worthington

Other poems of LORETTA WORTHINGTON (4)

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