Sleep, my little one

My little girl, in the darkest hour of the night

I tip-toed into your room again

as you drifted on your sea of dreams

and I watched you sleep

and my heart filled and then

almost burst open.

I wept in silence, my tears

diverted as they fell

by the smile of my

quivering mouth,

joy and sorrow co-mingling

on my tired cheeks.

I thanked you in whispers

and inaudible sentences

for being my daughter,

for existing and bringing

your burning torch into

Plato's cave, taking my hand,

and leading me out.

I begged forgiveness

from your tranquil pose

of peaceful recline,

forgiveness for being an adult

and forgetting sometimes

the important things in life.

Forgive me, my princess,

for trading in giggles

in favor of irony and sarcasm,

of forming impressions

of friends based on how

they make their money

instead of the contents

of their dreams,

for forgetting about

the tremendous magic

of imaginary tea parties.

Sleep, my little one,

and dream and stay a child

as long as you can, and help me

to find the little boy who still

lives deep within me

and wants to come out to play

one last time.

Sleep, and I too will sleep, and we can

dream a single dream.

RR Shea