Tenth graders gather after their pre boards,
Each at the junction of life’s crossroads,
Immersed in discussing how their paper went,
Some happy some not so had their heads bent,

I can’t help but think as I look at them,
How my baby would’ve been had she been at the helm,

I know for sure she’d be a ball of animation,
Pacing around, throwing her arms in exclamation,
“But this was out of syllabus” would be her cry,
That’s the justification she would try,

I know she’d be in the thick of things,
That’s the kind of involvement she brings,
I can’t say so much for studies,
But definitely in the discussions that follow with her buddies,

She’s the kind who was here, there, everywhere,
Now my heart bleeds to see her strapped in her wheelchair,

She’s the kind to speak nineteen to the dozen,
To see her mute has my heart frozen,

It’s as if her wings have been clipped,
Her ability to soar has been stripped,

But in all of this her spirit remains intact,
Her zest for life remains which is a fact,
Slowly but surely she’ll find her bearing,
You’ll see her soon in life’s battles towering