Audrey

You are the kind of joy that never ceases.
Even in between the lines and baby creases,
you are splendid, and beautiful.
I break into a thousand tiny pieces
and Audrey, you may have them all.

Your tiny hands with five long fingers each,
into my heart, the depths of me do reach
and wring me to tears.
I stop for thinking that I'd have something to teach
you about the world, and my fears.

And your little spirit, so eager and new
and hungry for the milk of life, for morning dew,
is magic of the most sacred kind.
I stand in awe of the love that created you;
perfect union, Audrey, in you enshrined.

Growing Pains

Are we too old, then,
for believing in fairies still?
I remember when
you thought one tapped the window sill,

how you shook with fear.
Said I, the oldest and most wise,
“fairies wont come near,
so sleep sweet cousin, rest your eyes.”

We wanted wings, too,
so we sang their chants in the woods
and brought fairy food:
donuts, cake, a slew of baked goods.

Remember the home
we made out of rocks, roots, and moss?
Those things are not gone,
they remain in a pile of loss

of our innocence.
Now we stand trapped by adult thought;
This state, transience,
worse than having no fairies caught.