Your laughter
is the sweet honey
drawn from honeysuckle—

the childhood joy
so many of us lost
before we learned
the weight of toil.

Hold tight, sweet girl,
and throw your head back
as you swing.

Let the wind
steady your shoulders,
your legs carrying you
toward the sky.

May your imagination remain
a wildflower,
untamed and bright,
growing in the meadow
where generations before you
forgot how to wander.