Isabel Gladstone, Contributor


A child blowing bubbles in a field,

O, how curious you are as you grow,

How you use your innocence as a shield, 

Hiding the bruises upon your elbow. 

You’re a rather passionate consort, 

A coquettish emigré gent you are,

O, how your dulcet look make all distort? 

By which you illumine as if fluorspar. 

Vigorous contradicts fragile and fine, 

Letting your pride get in the way of you, 

How populous see you fine and benign, 

Impediment see a grisly miscue. 

Sluggish but deeper you suddenly drop, 

And as if a meager bubble you pop.