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After The Windchimes
August 14, 2009
She wakes up
And strolls downstairs,
Floorboards creaking under her tiny feet.
She picks up a pen
And her small pink notebook
Riddled with doodles and hearts.
She writes
About what she dreamt about
With the look of marvelous content
I don’t ask where she traveled;
What magic
Or heroics
Or romances
That she dabbled in over the night.
It doesn’t matter to me what she dreamed,
Because her smile is enough.
© Sara D., Aiken, SC
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