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,
In my nightly dreams.