Flower of Yellow Insides

She was sitting in the bus
With the world passing her by
But she didn't look up
And she wasn't at all shy.

In her hands she held two books
And on them fixed her eyes
She wouldn't even feel the looks
Of passengers wondering why.

She was concentrating
At the young age of three
For Dickens she was reading
The other was a dictionary.

She put them down onto her lap
Her eyes she did blink twice
And gazed up at the train's map
To make sense of her time.

Back she went into her depth
Of what she held so dear
Twas emotion she had felt
And in warmth it drew her near.

She rubbed her tired eyes
And looked out of the window
She let out one of those sighs
That touched their very core.

And thus she learnt to want
More and more.