You’re a grower, Aren’t ya?

As the sun comes in

my coat starts to change

but not enough to alter my color.

when the rain falls down

i start to make sounds

but the big kids view me as an “other”.

The winds pick up

things blow in every direction

And this teen crap starts to clutter.

Once the fire blazes 

I’ve entered the real world

no time for mess ups, not even a stutter

keep going, keep going

the final phase

will be one like no other.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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