bedtime story

This is an engraving of a child praying.

Nighttime Prayer

God of heaven, God of light
    guide the dreams I dream tonight
God of slumber, God of sleep
    give me hope that I can keep
God of mercy, God of love
    give my heart a place above
God of old and God of new
    grant me closer home to You

Amen.

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This is an image of a girl whose dress is blowing in the wind.

The Girl Who Flew Away

The grass a glossy emerald green,
beneath an azure sky;
the breeze was blowing to and fro,
a noontime in July.

The birds were singing melodies
of flying in the wind,
but they didn’t want to go alone,
so they sought out a friend.

A little girl with flowing hair
was dancing ’round the tree;
her dress reflected in the light
that shone throughout the leaves.

She clapped her hands; she clapped them twice;
she clapped her hands three times;
she then began to spin around
and jump just like the chimes.

And then two birds atop the tree
began to plummet down;
they swirled together as they traveled
toward the emerald ground.

The little girl had stopped her spin,
her arms were at her side,
until she stretched them out to let
the birds give up their glide.

They landed on her little hands,
their wings extended still;
the girl began to run to find
a place atop the hill.

As she ran up to the top,
a bird began to follow;
then all the birds soon did the same
and left their wooden hollow.

The girl, still running, birds in hand,
finally found her stop;
she slowed her feet and caught her breath
while on the mountain top.

The birds, still flying, followed suit
and tried to slow the flight,
but when they got to where she stopped,
they couldn’t stop their plight.

So ’round and ’round and ’round they flew
around the little girl;
she felt a breeze begin to blow,
then she began to twirl.

She twirled and twirled and twirled until
her feet were off the ground;
she felt herself move toward the sky,
and then she looked around.

She saw the tree beneath her feet,
the oak, so far away;
she was flying with the birds,
the girl who flew away.

Summer’s eve is not yet here;
the time is now or none;
so fly as high as you can fly,
or else your summer’s done.


 

I wrote this poem a few years back (2008).

Going back to it, I can kinda see the potential for a children’s book.

Know any good illustrators?