Journal 7

When I was ten I moved
I left my old home that was my playground
my reddish beautiful roses
my gigantic trees
my old quiet town
my noisy friends
my midget dog
and my heart.
I never forget my little friend.
She
was my best freind
and my competent counselor.
She was left to the neighbor
I missed her warm bird heart.
I sometimes
went to the neighbor's house
to see her.
Her eyes were
pleased to see me.
I will ever forget
her big black eyes
her soft short hair and
her small smooth ears.
When I was twelve
she was gone.
Nobody lived in that neighbor's house.
N O B O D Y
My heart cracked.
I never found out where
my freind was.
N E V E R




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This is the poem based by my memory.