I've been away for the last week and got home late last night, exhausted. The Shortlings were already in bed when I got back, so I put my feet up, laid my head on The KingofHearts' shoulder and stared at the television show he was watching in a sort of comatose, post conference stress disorder.  Things have not been going well lately and I've been cranky about it to say the least.  That's another post, but if anyone knows a new, miraculous way to stop time while we get a few ducks in order to meet a deadline, or maybe a few hundred thousand dollars they aren't using just now, I'd really love to hear about it. 

I looked over at the footstool and my foot was resting on a purple index card with The Caterpillar's handwriting on it.  

"What's that?"

"Oh, that's something The Caterpillar wrote while you were gone," said The KoH idly, "It's a poem."

"You told her to write a poem?"

"No, she just wrote it. I don't know why."

The Dormouse is working on a book of poetry for her write-a-book entry this year, so I asked, "Did The Dormouse help her write it?"

"No, she just did it all by herself. I just looked down and she was finishing it up the other day."

I picked up the card and read it.  It was full of seven-year-old's spelling-isms and not written in verse, but once I figured out all the words, I was floored by the depth of eloquence in her little brain.  

They fill up your life, these kids.


It is one of the most remarkable things.
When beauty rises with the colors of the sky, it makes the sunrise.
With all the colors of dawn it makes the morning 
filled with joy, happiness, beauty, quietness, 
but above all,