Romantic Idealism, Part 2

She came home to me
With her hair a mess
And dirt streaked across her face.
I knew where she'd been
And why she'd been there
But I still had to give her
That same old rebuke
About staying out too late
And straying too far from home.
She apologized
And told me goodnight.
Just a little child,
Who knows so very much
And has those deep thoughts
That I had
When I was young, naive
And innocent.
She sleeps now,
For in the morning
She will once again
Take her path
To the stream
Where she will sit and watch
And think and dream.

by Alexandra Connell

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