I miss the girl with braided hair Sliding down the banister Ever climbing Dreaming Saving Little bits of Shells and pebbles Feathers, dropped by angels’ wings Still Entranced by little things Like sparrows pecking at her feet Sold for a farthing Lives so fleet Moments gone Like shifting tide She who played and laughed Has died A little more each day she went No dreaming, climbing Farthing spent
More than one hundred lifetimes later and like the alley cat, back on my feet. "Who are you" I ask the precocious seven year old who used to have the answer to everything, "And where are you going?"