"How old are you?" she asked, the little girl
Who was the daughter of my mother's friend,
A puny thing of three, eyes black as merle,
Two stops opaque the outcome could portend.
"Four", in reply I said, and feeling proud
Anew of new acquired age−what make!
Which to complete my telling head I bowed
To point the four-shaped candle on the cake.
Yet then she countered with a strident "Three!":
She would not be out-aged; and I said "Four."
"Three!", she insisted. "Four!" was my decree,
So forceful timid tears began to pour.
And though she was but three I knew no ruth,
For I had spoken with the voice of truth.
-------
This is the first of a series of sonnets on memories from my childhood that I intend to write.
Who was the daughter of my mother's friend,
A puny thing of three, eyes black as merle,
Two stops opaque the outcome could portend.
"Four", in reply I said, and feeling proud
Anew of new acquired age−what make!
Which to complete my telling head I bowed
To point the four-shaped candle on the cake.
Yet then she countered with a strident "Three!":
She would not be out-aged; and I said "Four."
"Three!", she insisted. "Four!" was my decree,
So forceful timid tears began to pour.
And though she was but three I knew no ruth,
For I had spoken with the voice of truth.
-------
This is the first of a series of sonnets on memories from my childhood that I intend to write.
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