Little girl,
who knew how to dream,
won’t you remember me?
When she’s thirty,
she’ll be thirty,
flirty,
and thriving.
She won’t worry
that she’s driving
too fast,
or that the last love
will really be the last.
She’ll be filled
with so much of it,
so much love,
she’ll burst like a field
of wildflowers in May.
And she’ll give as much
of it away
as she likes,
without
fear.
When she’s grown,
she’ll harvest
the seeds she sowed,
share them and
keep some of
her own.
She’ll be filled
with so much of it,
so much life,
she’ll shine like the sea
when the moon is full,
and when she’s waning,
she’ll love herself still.
Her days,
no longer caught
in dreams;
she’s alive and kicking,
she’s everything she seems.
Her nights,
filled with stars
and Milky Way memories.
Lovers and friends,
never-ending stories.
She can’t see the future,
but she can feel it.
It’s as long
as eternity.
And where
will she be?
Little girl who dreams,
what do you see?
A future
in color
and sound,
a place so lovely,
she’ll want nothing
but to keep her feet
on the ground.
