On the 19th of April was born a girl,
She was as precious as a pearl.
she was a beauty with soft, black curls,
And in this poem, her story’ll unfurl.
I’m told –
As an infant, she was unbelievably cute,
Boisterous and joyful, never for a second, mute.
As a toddler, she was a bundle of joy,
Chubby and energetic, chewing on every toy.
In junior school, she was busy learning the 3 Rs,
Making friends, losing teeth, enjoying every minute, every hour.
Now I know –
In senior school, she seems a whole lot bigger,
With several mood swings, and a fiery temper,
Though one dotted with sugar.
After entering her teens, she’s been an exquisite, young dancer,
Though at times she is a naughty little prancer.
At 14 years of age, she was the superior elder sister,
Looking upon my friends and me as annoying little pranksters.
But sometimes, when angry or excited, she went wild,
It’s not just once I’ve wondered whether she’s still a young child.
Now at 15, we’re yet to see
How she’s planned, in this year to be.
Now this is Medha my darling Oppol!