Meg

Greetings,

My name is Margaret March, but most call me Meg.  I’m 17 years old, and poor. If you feel sorry for me, don’t. Granted, I used to feel a bit sorry for myself.  But that was when I was 16. And I think we can all see a difference in a person between those ages. The journey of my life has been all about finding the hidden treasures disguised in a modest home and few luxuries. And I don’t mean trinkets, I mean love. I’ve realized the power of love within a family, and among friends, and that it is so much more fulfilling than all the beautiful things money can buy.  If you would have known me a year ago, you would meet a girl longing to “sit in the lap of luxury”.  Since then, I have actually had some experience of doing just that, in reveling with my rich friends. Honestly, it was emptying.  After a fortnight of being dolled primped, and spoiled, I found that all I really wanted was my home and the people therein. I have ultimately learned that riches cannot define me—I have greater possessions.