Five

Five years late oh how I wish

To turn back time

To a simpler time

To think a French plat

Would be the only time

I ever turned my back on her

My mom was smiles and churning dough

And laying new shoes in a row

To think those shoes were what I used 

To disappear

I forgot about her

She was waiting at home for me

She was five minutes late

To work near west

And I’m five years late

To her grave where she rest

-Bianca Gain