21

The sun rises slow over floating clouds gray,

Golden rays of light flow across the lazy bay,

The quiet wind blows beneath the singing jay,

and welcomes the beauty of the second day.

 

A figure stood there, beneath the flaming sky,

hair flowing freely, and head held high.

"Today," he whispered, letting out a sigh.

He turned then to face me, to look me in the eye.

 

He took my hands in his, the gentlest display,

and gave a smile sweetly; I could not glance away.

He held my hands and took a silent breath to say,

"This is it," he said, "You're twenty-one today."

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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