Diaries of Another Summer (1)

The air was full of laughter, and the heat
Of summer day was nothing to the thought
Of her; a kind of light upon a moor,
Or maybe liquid fire and porcelain —

She looked at me and through me; It was strange –
For I was just a prop, a kind of toy;
But girls must grow to women in their time,
And we go-through, as we are cast-aside

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