Vera Sidhwa


The Sandbox - Poem by Vera Sidhwa

We played with buckets.
We played with spades.
We made figures,
That nobody could make.

The sun shone brightly,
On the sandbox you see.
I drew myself in the sand,
Oh pretty me?

I grew up one day,
And saw much sand.
It was getting out of sand.
It was not my kind of sand.

You see all the people,
Who had grown up now,
Knew how to throw sand,
Meant to each other land.

This sand was not for me.

Topic(s) of this poem: santa rosa of lima


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, August 27, 2015

Poem Edited: Friday, August 28, 2015


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