her little dress hangs waiting
on the small wooden hanger
by the wardrobe door
the palest slip of organza
confection, as light and airy
as cotton candy on a white
paper cone...
To be a flower girl is an honor,
she thinks to herself, as mother
ties her soft brown hair up in
curling rags while she sits still as the
bunny on the lawn beyond her
bedroom window
She dreams of nosegays and
white satin...a wreath of tiny violets
circling her curls...a shower of
rose petals fluttering around
her own "someday" wedding wishes
on this summer night under a
new moon....
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