by Johanna A., 14
His wrinkled sun kissed skin crinkled in the harsh yellow sunlight
that bathed everything in its sickly glow,
and as the sun stopped on the highest peak of the sky
his old and wise eyes smiled.
As that smile reached his mouth,
the whole world blotted with his light.
But as the sun tumbled down the sky,
he frowned as if the magic of his smile had disappeared
and the silver bells chimed lonely until his rusty cart gave birth
to a sticky half melted smile,
on a child’s face.
Potomac, Massachusetts
Bridge Ink 