Year Six
walking the halls without purpose
finding, not yet, her mix
reaching merely the surface

Year Eight
strutting with the promised
growing together in a hopeful state
paddling through the calmest

Year Ten
marching with sounds in her ears
laughing alongside the new but soon to be ¨back then¨
diving under, into her fears

Year Twelve
refusing to delve

Domenica Dillon

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