Coming of Age

Hazy vision like a winter foggy morning

Holding a stick hoping and mumbling

She thought she flew like a feather

Wondering when she would wither

Her mind she thought was sharp as a razor

Found conveniently blunted at edges 

Blunt or rust she said it didnt matter

Life anyways is nearly in tatters

This winter or was it previous winter?

Time too freezes like her wobbly legs

Not knowing what do next

Trembling hands in lieu of anticipation

Coming of age, they had laughed 

When she could touch the ground and run 

Vision clear like a bright sunny morning 

Aging like a fine wine she whined

Imagery poetry...