Now Blog Archive on November 1, 2009, 8:00

by Madelaina, age 14

My girl talks about her dreams,
of glory and rosettes,
of satin gleaming and untouched
that she could call ours.

She recites these ponderings
as they dawn with the sunrise.
But I only care for her voice -
one which glows
and is as honeyed as the morning
sun is gold.
And I flick at the lonesome fly,
pivoting my fuzzy ears
and staring back in the way that makes her

I have no dreams,
my ambitions faint in my heart.
My girl dreams daily,
her will