The Scribbled Child

More about The Scribbled Child

Drawn in a storm of hurried hue,
A face obscure, yet strangely true.
Though born amidst the blur and haze,
The page won't hold her shifting ways.

She’s not broken - just unrefined,
A dream half-formed, a tangled mind.
No lines are fixed, no shape is styled -
She’s no more than... a scribbled child.

(This image was inspired - already some time ago - by a prompt from "Debbie Eh?")