Who rode like the wind on her bicycle.
Who climbed trees to swing
With the sun and the stars.
Who flew off the garage roof
With a plane made of an apple box.
A younger me
Yes, that is me with still the heart of this child.
Sometimes a younger me is buried deep inside.
But that child still dreams and sings in her heart.
Off this weekend to find a peek at a dear younger me.
Happy weekend, dear friends!