Feet patter

on pale blue tiles,

they quicken, they stomp

marching with purpose.


Little beads

hang on the tips

of jet black braided hair

she moves, they rattle.


Loud giggles

echoes  in  long

hallways, as little eyes

peak through corners.




She runs,

giggles and hides

until a few minutes

pass by and she peaks again.



My little sister Daleela is four years old. Sometimes I watch the way she explores, examines, and takes in the world around her. I find myself learning lessons every time I watch her play. When a toddler falls; they cry, scream, get back up, and play again.

I wonder why as we get older, we forget how to get back up and play again after we’ve fallen.





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Posted by:A'Isha Adams

Mind of a frantic poet. Ambition of an entrepreneur. The heart of an old soul.

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