To My Creative Child

 

She's not a little girl, she's a giant.

And she still lives in me; and will live with me 

for the rest of my life.

I love her so much and I'm so proud of her. 

For the road she's walked in her nightie and bare feet 

(as I once saw her in a dream). 

I'm proud of her for the rivers she swam in 

and raging torrents she pulled herself out of.

For the tears she wiped from her dirt-covered cheeks 

and the sweat she wiped from her brow

alone 

to keep walking forwards - barefoot and determined.

She is stronger and freer than I ever was 

and I'm so happy to have her back.  

She's never been starved for love, 

I have always loved her. 

So have the moon, the stars, the sun and the rain. 

The wind, the snow, the storms and the floods - 

all have loved her 

and kept her safe from and through them. 

She is a formidable six-year-old, 

a feisty fourteen-year-old and a magnificent, tiny baby, 

who found her feet through stumbles and false starts 

and went on to keep doing that.

She is me.