That Was Sixteen

She ran off to the garden to
Escape the crowd and noise:
She didn’t understand her friends,
Neither the girls nor boys —
She needed peace and solitude,
Some time to sit and stare,
To be with no one,
And to be nowhere

Why sixteen has to be so hard,
I couldn’t really say —
I noticed her go out, of course,
But I just stayed away —
For solitude is priceless when
You really, really need it:
And thinking that I understood
Was foolish and conceited

About an hour hence, I heard
The closing garden door,
She stopped to see me reading there
And stood within my door —
“So you’re not in there, either?”
“No. It’s really not my scene.”
Then she walked off. That’s it.
That was

Sixteen

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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