Sixteen years too long to learn Sixteen years too short to discern The pattern of breathing, of love still weaving, of tears still rolling, of smiles still waiting.
Brown eyes on the watch Not merely looking but seeking the clutch Of sight bestowed by blindness Of memories shared by kindness
Curling hair cut short for letting go Patience waver and strength runs low I grow this hair though it grows slow Just like life, I'm letting it flow Abigail this name on sail She does not bail Although hanging on the rail My name is a tale In it there is no vale or one true fail