Dreams Like Popsicles

Miranda, oh my sweet little Miranda; where oh where have your dreams gone?

It seems but like yesterday when I held you close to my heart and sung you little songs.

I watched you as you grew; I smiled within as you invented imaginary friends in which to play.

I held your hand and walked with you, my soul was filled with joy as we climbed together life’s stage.

Yet now the days of our time speed so quickly by and when I think of all the lost moments my heart carries a heavy sigh.

It seems that all I have now are the photographs of the sweet innocent little girl I once knew.

I think about you always Miranda, and if regrets were wishes I would have a million and two.

For you see little girl, dreams in our youth are somewhat like popsicles, sweet to our lips and firm in our lives.

Yet as our days increase in number our dreams begin to fade until they slowly drip away leaving the coarseness of truth to which only the dry colored stick remains.

We watch as from a distance now as the firm cool sweetness courses down our arms forming tiny droplets of hope, a hope which is never even in old age without; a hope which clings to this day.

So my darling Miranda, know that my love for you will always be, know that even though dreams sometimes seem to fade.

 The truth as evidenced by my love for you gives unto you the proof that dreams built on love unlike the popsicles of our youth never ever really go away.

 J. Allen Wilson © 2007