Dear Imagination,
There is a thing
Deep inside my grey matter
That lovingly tells stories
To a very small, eager
Child
As she waits with
Eyes turned inward
To see the next picture
Of the next scene
Of a very long tale
About herself
And many other creatures
Notwithstanding
The scary, the gross,
The inappropriate,
The undesirable
But certainly not without
The lovely, the cheerful
The apropos,
The dearly needed
And this thing
Is not a thing at all
But is you,
Unformed one,
Who dares to be
The shapeless,
Mysterious,
And ridiculous
Being
That I have long been
Too fearful to become.