She gathers her dreams enthralled with the treasures they are and should be. Each thought as special and unique with unseen cracks and secrets never shared. She focuses on the myriad colors that tickle her love for crayons and dazzling lights at amusement parks best experienced past bedtime. She feels the textures of gritty sand and wet silk and precariously traces the memories of building forts and blowing bubbles with her Dad. Her lips murmur childish sing-song verses of loves yet unknown but are more complex than any sung by master musicians. The wind teases her with whispers of imaginary friends and words of wisdom from loved ones in Heaven … and beyond. She is not easily distracted by the warnings of danger as she is protected by the mysterious powers of innocence. At least — let her be naive for one more day and shatter that jar of fearful tears. Inhale with her the sweet tang of childhood and lick your lips, savoring the nostalgia of homemade peach ice cream. Embrace yourself — for she is you.