HER PARENTHESES
The weeping willow is her world
Where boughs form a room.
The golden coins scattered about
Are dandelions in bloom.
As I peer through curtained window
She’s lost in make-believe,
And I watch in fascination,
The stories she can weave.
With dolls and toys as audience,
She acts upon a stage,
Fulfilling all the sweet dreams
Expected of her age.
Just now, she’s Cinderella
Dancing at the ball,
As she wears my old satin gown,
And heels to make her tall.
But soon she is a Fairy Queen
With sequined wings of blue.
As she waves a small magic wand
Her wishes all come true.
And next she transforms to a Bride,
Who’s dressed with greatest care,
With curtain as a bridal veil,
And flowers in her hair.
Once again she changes modes
And breaks into sweet song,
Pretending she’s a great chanteus,
But it doesn’t last too long,
For now she is a perfect Mom.
With motherly concern,
She feeds her dolls and beds them down,
With a kiss for each in turn.
I’m quite engrossed in her pretense
As I watch her fantasize,
But scenes are quick to fade from sight,
When tears caress my eyes.
I wipe my eyes for better view
Of her parentheses,
And I am saddened then to find,
It’s all just memories.
2/22/96 Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck