The dreams of a girl hide, yet return at a certain age.
Standing under the stars, the budding young woman dreams.
Dreams of one soul, embodied as her wishes deem.
He is conjured by youthful hope, and longing, yet unknown.
Longing for arms of strength, heart of fire and eyes smiling into hers.
What ever befalls in the passing years, desires met or dreams that failed,
for many, perhaps most, that spark born under the youthful sky, glimmers, and returns with sagging breasts and furrowed brow.
Through days of work, and nights of weariness,
The spark may lay dormant, under years of work and stress, unremembered.
Fast, flying years all but extinguish the spark unfelt, yet
like an inexplicable belief comes unbidden
and rekindled, as age worn hands reach for that self-same dream.
Oh the ache of empty arms, of a heart again yearning to be loved.
Far, far from the girl with childish dreams, desire still gleams,
for one, just one more chance to see desiring eyes for her, alone.
For one more long, long moment to be held and cherished.
We grow and mature, and experience, yet the girl standing under the stars
is deep with in, still hoping. Still longing.
