Left Behind

The plimpies in the stream wiggle by
Under the shining sun;
Her blonde hair frames those large,
Perturbing blue eyes, the yellow dress
Whipping about in the summer breeze.

She sits upon the bank,
Eyes set on the plimpies,
Attempting to ponder their daily tasks,
But nothing comes to mind, for
Nothing can distract her from the lemons,
Rusting and rotting at the base
Of the crinkling tree, no longer their
Cheery yellow - just a sickly brown.

She imagines a young laughing face,
A basket underhand, plucking the ripened fruit,
Mischief twinkling in her eye -
But that is gone.

She
Is left among the falling lemons, the
Lazy plimpies, the long summer days;
To the bank to sit and ponder on
A world no longer existing.