Her name was Sandra Rosie,
And she had quite the mind.
in youth she'd dance for ages,
Infatuated with nameless
words saw on paper.
Of the world, and of non-worlds,
Delivered in printed parallel lines.
Then entranced by dead bugs.
Or dreading getting hair cuts.
Or in rain running barefoot
in yards with scattered dog ****.
And Spring cloudy evenings,
She'd sing to the trees outside,
And the leaves would wave and clap,
And she'd be alive before age five.
Near open windows,
she painted with her hands
A picture of her family holding hands,
Cause all her crayons were broken.
Oh curly blonde she sang again,
When she heard
Mom and Dad making a commotion.

Sandra Rosie thought differently
than most Sandra's her age.
Always clear wide-eyed
in those cataract days.
Depressed mother or father,
Priceless dreamer they raised.
In this dimly lit world,
she shined on the stage.
She ran aimless and free.
She played her recorder
on every night of the week,
She danced her fingers
in piano key melodies.
And sang soft to herself,
before she fell asleep.

Sweet salvaged Sandra Rosie,
Every night said a prayer,
That she learned from her father
or mother somewhere.

"Dear Lord, keep me healthy,
      And Lord keep me kind,
    Dear Lord I will keep you
      This night on my mind.
    And please watch my family,
      And rescue the blind,
    And let my rest be peaceful,
      And peace for mankind"

Then each night she would dream,
A special kind of dream,
Where she'd live in quiet forests,
And her family would raise bees.
Or she'd wake up in a phone booth
At age twenty-three,
Questioning her diet, her lover, her sanity.

The outstanding Sandra Rosie,
A dreamer in day,
Curious in ways too beautiful to say.
A guiding child innocence leading the way.
She stands in confidence day by day.
When she watches from a distance,
The bluebirds hatched eggs,
Or starts sitting on her hair,
Cause it's grown to her legs.
Then asks her weary mother
To teach her ballet.
But mama responds,
   "Perhaps another day"

Oh, Sandra Rosie,
Make sure you take your time,
Otherwise it will fly,
and you might lose your mind.
And the older you get
The more questions you'll ask,
And the older you get
The more'll get left in your past.
And you'll learn things you don't want to.
You might hug your mom less.
You'll find out that your happiness
is not part of success.
You'll start caring about numbers,
on a scale or your chest.
You might be easily tricked
into having ***.
you'll enjoy getting cross faded,
and you'll pretend to like kale,
or get high to bad music.

Kid, it's more than reasonable,
to hop a train headed west,
Than to say that someday I'll finally
hop a train headed west.

But for now Sandra Rosie,
Please wish on the stars.
Be alive at age five,
Ride on dogs back

In some years Sandra Rosie,
She will grow like every other.
She will have read all the classics,

on floors with cardboard cover.
Or paint on a canvas every wrinkle in time,
In room lit with strings of Christmas lights.
Oh, the more you grow dear Sandra Rosie,
The more I know