My Little Sprite

At my window every night There comes this little white light With little tales about many sites Where it soars with delight Telling adventures that excite And never leaving till midnight I'll watch it fly out of sight Never with any fright And wish it a good night. The next night it comes all the same Never seeming to drain But rather to entertain. It acts humane To explain It's great day that seems insane But yet I listen all the same. This little light that enchanted me Has raised me up and set me free Where I find myself talking to a bee or chickadee About who cuts down the Christmas tree And about what I want to be And about magical fairies. About happy things that give me glee. About the great President Kennedy. About locked doors with special keys. About the weird bumps on my knees. About my best fried Marie. About going over sea. About my deep hatred for peas. About my secret recipe. But no matter how much I plea That little light must always flee And I'm stuck waiting for an eternity. Then one night the light did not come Leaving me to think alone like a bum Sitting and picking up little crumbs And getting teased and called dumb. I sat and waited many nights in my glum Chewing wads of baseball gum While mom and dad totaled their income Leaving me bored and sending me to the gymnasium Where I ran and worked till I was numb Coming home to overcome This sorrow which left every one worrisome. Then the years did pass And I was done with class Becoming part of the working class But alas The little light did not come to my glass. I waited and waited praying it would While officially growing out of childhood Finding a man who was good And made a livelihood. Then one night there came a light Which filled me full of excite. I rushed to the window, the open the blinds And there sitting was a great find. My little friend stood there Brand new and floating in the air. A beautiful face, with rosy red cheeks Very tiny and a slim physique. She appeared antique With her little wings and stood before me very meek. "You've grown," she said With this tone of dread. "My little sprite I've been waiting all my life For you to come to my window at night. I've grown, that is true But I'm still the same through and through And I've been waiting to talk with you." At my window every night Comes my little sprite With tales about many site Where she soars with delight Telling adventures that excite And never leaving till midnight I'll watch her fly out of sight And wait for that special light To come again to my window the next night.