Childhood was fun,
Friends have come and gone.
But I could remember one of them,
She wasn't like most of them.
She was always mute,
One would think she was born subdued.
Her voice convenient in her head,
Never bothered or cared to be heard.
Many felt her weird but she was far from being odd.
A d so she was named,
The girl who never talked.
Tease her,
Toss her,
Tickle her,
Nothing actually coaxed her.
Lily was her name,
Was it Calla or Water?
We never knew which rose to fame.
Yet she was all her name meant;
Purity, Fragility, Immaculacy,
Never did we see her close to bits.
And just as she came,
We never knew what became.
So it happened, that the girl who never talked was nowhere to be stalked.
The air said, "She died."
But what could kill an unfamiliar girl with no acquaintance at all.
Words had it that she had tonsillectomy,
Which was the actual cause of her hostility.
But we were so young with a shallow faculty, all we wanted her to say was at least "I am not empty."
She never smirked nor smiled,
She was alone and stone,
Maybe she had wanted to speak, but feared that if she squeaked, we'd be quick to crack.
And just like that,
Her brows never wrinkled,
Her eyes never crinkled,
Her nose never crumpled,
Because even though her mouth was set to go on a flight,
We were there and ready to receive with a fight.
Judges we had become.
As little as pint-sized buckets,
We were ready to go big and oversized.
Our ignorance and innocence not so innocent after all; for we knew she didn't want to be disturbed yet, we were like worms ready to go on a sandstorm.
And just like that,
The girl who never talked will never talk, because we are quick to be antagonists in stories or matters we have little or no information about.