I float through the starry night sky,

To a land of ogres and giants,

Of kings and queens.

This place is one where a little girl’s dream

Morphs and spins and weaves

Into a grown woman’s fantasy.


At the first touch of the surface

Of a shining, silver cloud,

My back sprouts wings and I no longer need

Pixie dust to fly.


Now, I do not float aimlessly above the trees,

No, I flit down to earth

Down to touch my little pink slippers to the dirt.


But this is not just any dirt.

This is the stuff of magic;

It grows vast bean sprouts and talking flowers.

It allows a home for all that is

Wild and crazy and wonderful and perfect.


Here, in this fairytale realm,

Two worlds collide.

One, in my waking reality,

And one

In my nightly dreams.


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