Don't Let It Win

Today I met Jane skipping down the street,
A twinkle in her eyes and a beat at her feet.
"'Morning, pretty girl, such a sweet, pleasant face,
And a smile so delightful, it adds grace to grace.
The red of your plump, red cheeks suggest
You are cheerful and loved and by everyone blessed."
The twinkle in her eyes dimmed, oh, just a bit,
And the beat at her feet faltered by a split.
'Plump' was the word that shone bright like the sun,
And once again, insecurity won.

As I turned a corner, there I spotted Joe,
A child in his arm, his face aglow.
"'Morning, charming man, what a heart-warming sight,
To see a love so pure, so true and so bright.
 Your son will grow to be joyous, gleeful and whole,
For his father's modest home is the nectar for his soul."
The glow on his face faded, oh, just a bit,
And his grip on his child loosened by a split,
'Modest' was the word that deep his heart bored,
And once again, insecurity scored.

Strolling in the park, I heard an eager hail
Of my dearest, oldest friend, the sweet Mrs. Gale.
"'Morning, Ms. Hope," she said, "I was hoping to meet,
For your kind, free words make every morning sweet.
Your name is befitting, you are Hope in truest form,
Solitary is your step, yet your heart is most warm."
The smile on my lips fell, oh, just a bit,
And the thud of my heart quickened by a split.
'Solitary' was the word that all else drowned,
And once again, insecurity was crowned.

Copyright: Ritu Lamba