When I was young
Before I felt foreign lips on mine
Cracked the spine of the good book
Saw myself in the mirror
I sat at the window and wished on stars
I wanted fairy wings
a big white horse
a new pair of shoes
Now I am older
Not old enough to whither in wet soil
Old enough to sign my name
To run from large men
To billow smoke
Older still every day
Until there is no older left to be
Until there are no stars left
And shoes don’t run
And horses are too high to reach