by Lauren Cooper
(1964 - 1999)
A little girl came skipping through the wood
Hair wild-flying; face so good
And sweet; her eyes a-light
With the joys of youth's delight.
She came, that dauntless Fillette,
With words I never shall forget.
She said: "My years are few; but oh!
Even my life has one sorrow!"
"What" I asked her, "can this be?"
"Nobody will play with me."
"Little one," I said, with a sigh,
"If I was young like you then why ...
"I'd skip and run; pick daisies sweet,
And kick hard shoes right off my feet."
"But oh!" She said, "the wind has lost
"It's way, and life is cruel as frost."
"How," I asked her, "can this be?"
"'Tis true; noone will play with me."
I felt the years release my youth
And, in grim and bitter truth,
I held my arms out to Fillette
Dreaming youth was with me yet.
She gave a haunting cry of joy
That still now does my peace destroy.
Then came a the wind ... One hollow gush
Blew her from me with a rush.
And as she fled, she cried in agony:
"YOU FOOL! Mortals can't play with me!"