She holds the dreams I lost along my way
inside that tiny head below that childish brow.
She possesses the desire to explore and play
treasured things which escaped me, somehow.
Imagination, fairy tales, and those other things
she now claspes them tightly in her little fist.
She sees the rainbows and hears life as it sings
while my aspirations are absorbed by the mist.
She is now keeper of my former fascination
mistress of fantasy and life's perpetual mystery.
She is the new owner of each wonderful fabrication
all the countless wonders age denies to me.