The toadstools lower their heads
Their tears of midnight dew glittering under star light
while the silence embraces

She sits here cross legged ringed in despair
Her diary untouched by the stroke of pens
where pages and wishes are written on the wind
and dotted with tears

Much heartbreak spilled
                                       …too much
and the age of innocence long time butchered by reality
But still she wishes and dreams for the times…
…
…
She skipped…

                       She danced…

                                             She laughed…

The small song birds joined her choir
and she sang in tunes only a father could appreciate
The garden was her playground
and the toadstool ring of wishing bound her secrets

She looked...

                       She waited…

                                            She listened…

It was like waiting for Christmas morning
A door on the horizon with the welcome mat on the wrong side
A miniature world beneath toadstool umbrellas
where dreams and possibilities
stretched further than arms could reach


…………….but the small song birds no longer kiss her ears