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Poetry By: Ava Rosien

Just validating my earlier years, when imagination got me into trouble.

Submitted:Oct 1, 2012    Reads: 28    Comments: 5    Likes: 3   


I was a handful so they say;

a child who was quite precocious;

Imagination personified in tales

that were often times atrocious.

Trouble was my middle name;

as my flare for story telling grew.

My parents scratched their heads;

not knowing what was true.


I scared my siblings; with tales

of beasts in the woods beyond;

and how they should not go for walks

alone down by Gillis pond.

"A creature lives there; covered in moss

and lurks below the surface;

he waits for children for his lunch;

to grab and eat you is his purpose!"


When my little brother ran

in such terror to our mother crying;

I got spanked; she seemed to think

my stories constituted lying.


Now I'm grown, too old to spank;

my stories told without a fear.

I'm free at last to "imaginate";

and make up tales for all to hear.


Not precocious, nor atrocious;

now known as somewhat of a writer.

Its story telling, not a lie;

so it constitutes something slighter.


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