The child-dreamer

July 16, 2009
My fingernails are awfully dirty.
I’m counting clouds, (there are thirty)
And reading a book. Is that nerdy?
I asked my friend, Mr. Birdy,
Who sat there, looking very purrdy.
Sadly, I don’t think he heard me.
I asked mom, who was not reassuring
And said, instead,
Please shut up
And go to bed.

Now I’m lying in my bed,
A paper crown around my head.
I’m pretend-crying because I dread
Tomorrow morning, when I must wed
The evil prince. (His name is Ted.)
Mom glances in my castle’s keep
And yells
“Would you just go to sleep?!”

Now I’m sleeping, yet I dream
Of dragons blue and mermaids green.
In my mind these things all seem
Trapped behind a metal screen
And on this cage there is a label
(NO MORE FICTION, NO MORE FABLE.)
If only I could set them free.
These wild child’s thoughts, you see
Are far more tangible to me
Than anything could ever be.





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