Transition
The mermaid in her's growing
Each step leaves one less more.
She has a way of going
Past the streets, down to the shore.
She has a way of sitting,
And, when alone, she sings.
Her hair's more long, more flowing,
Her eyes, unearthly things.
I watch her change, and worry
What will happen when it's done.
She seems so glad to hurry
But she does not want to run.
Her way of walking's altered
Into something rich and strange.
My thoughts of her have faltered
As she glides into her change.
There's something new and gleaming
In the clothing she wears now.
I watch her-is she seeming
To float through air? But how?
Her ches