The little girl that once was me
lies sleeping in my brain.
Sometimes I let her out to play
and be that child again.
She lets me see her world that was
before she grew so tall.
She tells me life was pretty good,
back when she was still small.
Although that life was filled with love,
sometimes she felt alone.
There was no one to share her toys;
the folks she knew were grown.
She learned to live with make-believe.
Her games were all her own--
exploring nooks where fairies lived--
and only she was known.
She longed to hurry and grow up
to see what lay ahead,
but now, she’s glad she had that time
to be a child instead.
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