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Jan 2017
Crossing the road
When I was eight years old,
I was sure that cars would stop
At the little girl in red.

From the other side,
The stretch seems like forever;
Running fast from something,
Or someone I wasn't sure of.

Mom would scold,
Friends would shout cold;
Warm gustling winds,
Passing swiftly was home.

Crossing the road,
Now I'm twice as old,
I'm sure the car didn't miss me,
Because I missed it instead.

I have always walked on pedestrian lines, so if I die my insurance would compensate for it. And if I ever do ー it won't be an accident.

Anne Scintilla
Written by
Anne Scintilla  18/F/Philippines
     Yan F and Isabelle
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