The Angels Were Generous

Childhood Dreams

I was a child whose dreams were bright;
I’d marry rich and build a house,
A picket fence that I’d paint white.
Years have passed and I’ve grown jaded;
It seems my dreams weren’t colorfast,
The more they aged, the more they faded.
My child runs up and tells a tale;
She’ll save the world and marry well,
Build her fences and blaze her trails.
Her hopes are whole where mine are frayed;
Bigger, brighter, more colorful.
Let her dream, maybe hers won’t fade.