Wing

The bright flower-print frock

Was wrapped and kept behind two wooden doors

She would open them every now and then

Stand in front of her mirror

Trying to shrink herself to its size

Her reflection smiling back to her

She flew with the breeze back then

Just like a candid butterfly

With wings of gold and an eternity to explore

Through a pair of sparkling watchful eyes

The dusk would rest in her bed

And the dawn would wake with her.

In the same flower print and long wavy hair

With her fragile self spread across her soft bed

With legs crossed and some pulp to engrave

She longs for just one more chance

Her little hands and vast blue sky

Another flight, and one more wing.