Every morning without fail she lugs her wooden chair
Although far too big for her
she hurls it across the lawn
Squinting her eyes to the sky as if she is waiting for something to appear
Mumbling to herself in babbles and burbles
waving her little fat fingers
As if to say
I’ll be ready soon
Just give me a moment
She clambers up
carefully balancing herself
so not to lose her dainty pair of little lace-shoes
She mounts herself up
Here, she said, as she straightens her frock
She gives herself a glance
and is pleased with what she sees
With a flick of her hair
and a swift rise of her arms
she stands elevated
She’s bigger now, taller now
Her chair, her stage
Spreads her arms like little red robin wings
ready for flight
She looks to the sky
and to the gust of wind, she says
Blow wind! Blow!
And as if by some magical enchantment, the wind obeys
And they gently whisk through her hair
Kissing her cheeks
as they lift her spirits
She chuckles and giggles
Day after day, she plays out the same scene
Pulling her chair and speaking to the wind
Giggles after giggles
She commands the wind
Conducting them like a little maestro
And as each gust blows
she harnesses them into her Spirit
Into her canisters of confidence and sparkle
Until at last, on that auspicious day
She holds up her gown
Laces between with her fingers
She elegantly steps
into her moment, into her limelight
She gives herself a glance
and is pleased with what she sees
With a flick of her hair
and a swift rise of her arms
She stands elevated
She’s bigger now, taller now
Spreads out her eagle wings
like she is ready for flight
She looks to the sky
and she draws from within
From her canisters
her confidence and robust
No audience has ever seen
Cheer and applause whirl across the room
gently whisking through her hair
Kissing her cheeks
Lifting her spirits
She beams
Taking her bow
She whispers to herself
Here’s to that little girl who stood on the chair