Scabby knees and a frilly dress, I stood smiling at the moon,
Certain the sparrow's secret would be mine all too soon.
On my back- a pair of paper wings, tied to me with string,
Skin tingling at hopes the night would surely bring,
A runway of roughly laid concrete lay beneath my toes.
I wiped the sweat from my hands onto my beaded, smudged, worn clothes.
Old Man! Proud moon! You won't escape me this time!
Crouched, then sprung, I began my celestial climb.
I ran until my heart was fit to burst in my chest,
I paused to check on my progress and snatch a little rest.
The woman I would become spoke in a voice so very clear:
I'm sorry, little girl, you'll never fly, my dear.
I smiled at the voice and agreed It's true, I'll never fly,
But gosh isn't it such great fun, if only just to try?