Sweet dreams find her hands of fists and feets a’wagging upon red limbs amiss their slumber tales—where rainbows of light sew fabrics of journeys upon the windswept fruit of her mother’s sails;

Sweet parents do late night dreams a’visit, and up she grows from tiny fancy to kicker to grant of an evening plea—when open windows and kernels of knowing peek through lights shining suddenly free;

Sweet eyes begin to flutter as fancies of trees of gold of purple of green of pink take flight as images focus and shift—who’s to see upon her clear eyed sight the visions of families, futures, and the gift.