I wrote this poem recently while watching my sweet little daughter, Brier Vale, play outside on an unseasonably warm and sunny day in January. To be inspired by my children is a wonderful feeling indeed.
Brier Vale Plays Pretend
There is no other world out there, except the one you’re in.
She is told, but still Brier Vale plays pretend.
She doesn’t have time for worldly matters
like turning off the light when she leaves a room,
or sweeping the floors with a broom.
Her life is in her imagination,
where she may be riding a horse,
or boarding a train at Union Station.
Today, she’s a ballerina; tomorrow, she’ll be different.
Maybe she’ll swim in the deep ocean waters with her fellow mermaids,
or traipse through the enchanted forest with a unicorn, whose mane is pink and purple.
Perhaps she’ll board a maiden voyage bound for lands unseen,
or plunder for treasure with pirates on an uncharted island,
and drink from coconuts by the sea.
She’ll play and play, and then play some more.
She’ll use her mind to take her to another place or time,
One that only exists in nursery rhymes.
Until, of course, her belly starts to rumble,
or her eyes grow heavy with slumber.
Then, she’ll run to Mommy for some milk and honey,
before she lies down her head
to drift off to sleep and dream
of castles and princesses, and fairies dancing on the moon,
or perhaps a valley filled with lavender, lilacs, and little bunnies.
Good night, Brier Vale, and do sleep well.
For the morning will come again
and once more it will be time to play pretend.