I feel in every girl
there lives
a wild pixie,
that if let go,
would run and dance in grassy fields
until the end of the world—
and when that girl grows up,
that pixie hides,
but she’s always there,
peeking out behind old eyes
and reading glasses,
waiting
to one day dance again.
xx Atticus
**@atticuspoetry **)
www.atticuspoetry.com)
