A little girl runs through a meadow,

as the wind makes her hair blow.

She grabs at the flowers passing by,

stretching her arms as if trying to fly.

 

Her dress rises as she spins around,

faster and faster until she falls to the ground.

Laughing she looks up at the sun,

catching her breath from her long run.

 

She dreams of a magical land,

where fairies roam and castles stand.

Her flowers form a lovely crown,

and she watches over a little town.

 

Thunder in the far distance rumbles,

as the dream fills with some troubles.

Her crown begins to wilt,

and the castle needs to be rebuilt.

 

The thunder moves close and loud,

and rain begins to fall from a dark cloud.

The dream crumbles to an end,

because now she can't play pretend.

 

The young women stands back on her feet,

feeling tired, mistreated, and beat.

There's no more fairies or castles,

instead there's only problems and hastles.

 

She leaves the meadow longing for the girl,

the girl who used to dance and twirl,

the one that used to dream and fly,

who was forced to one day say good bye.

 

She blew away in the summer breeze,

when time refused to stop and freeze.

Somedays you can still hear her laughter sing,

and your filled with the dream it brings.