Her room is painted white. A blank canvas. Whispers fill my ears, of all her Possibilities. She is not me. I have to remind myself. Empty of memories, Full of furniture. I can see her growing here. My little girl. One day these coos and cries, Will change to words. She’ll sing songs instead, Of lullabies. I’ll savor every moment. Every sweet little song. In this room, With the white walls.