Wise Child


She wore glasses; she had freckles,
Her red hair was fixed in braids,
She was not like the other kids,
She seemed older than her age.

A serious little thing she was,
With such a somber smile,
I think she was a grown-up,
Long before she was a child.


She'd sit for hours with a book,
And never put it down,
The expression on her little face,
Showed transformation ... she was gone,

So influenced by each book,
Such an impressionable child,
She responded to each word and thought,
With tears, or frowns, or smiles.


She became the leading character,
In every book she read,
Little Women almost undid her,
Was she Beth or Jo or Meg?

She even became Tom Sawyer,
And asked for a pole to steer a raft,
Then she pretended doing miracles,
Like Moses with a staff.


I grinned; I must never bring her,
Lizzie Borden's tale of woe,
And I also must not tease her,
Lest her imagination go.

She wandered lonely as a cloud,
When she got into poetry,
My, how the Lady of Shalott,
Inspired her fantasy.


She swirled a cape like Dracula,
She was caught up in Charlotte's Web,
To the depth and breadth she counted,
The ways love set her heart on edge.

Austen's Pride and Prejudice,
Made her feel somewhat aloof,
Then she became a Feminist,
Ala Virginia Woolf.


She was overwhelmed, I think,
By Captain Ahab and his whale,
Then she laid claim to Auntie Mame,
And giggled at her tales.

With Farah and his Memsahib,
She went in and Out of Africa
She dared the Congo with Sir Marlowe,
And its dark heart phenomena.

She went Around the World in Eighty Days,
Via balloons, and ships, and camels,
And I think she helped to mix the paints,
For the Sistine Chapel.


Well-traveled was my pigtailed girl,
She'd been to places I had not,
And she knew people unknown to me,
That I had never thought about.

Such joy to see her eyes light up,
With every new adventure,
The happiest child I'd ever seen,
In or out of character.


Her life complete; her soul so full,
So fine her mind and so profound,
Hard to believe this joyful girl,
Was to a wheelchair bound.

Wise child ... she had figured out,
How to escape her trap,
She rode that wheelchair everywhere,
Not in the least bit handicapped.

~ Virginia Ellis ~
Copyright 2001

Index Page

Ginny's Heart Index