Nichole’s Eighth Birthday

In her tousled bed she woke
To a exciting day of sunshine and joyful tidings.
Her birthday dawned with promise

Nichole was eight that day,
And those who love her
Rejoiced in celebration.

In pink and falling feathers
She feasted on a meal
Prepared by Dad with syrup, love and bacon.

A drift of gifts awaited,
And she, with beaming curiosity
Tore and explored their contents.

A box to color, a figurine and tea set,
A gowned doll and silver scooter were revealed
As we watched, savoring her pleasure.

The afternoon was spent with brushes
Dipped in multi colored shades
That transformed bland shapes to treasures.

We created patterns and screwing up our eyes
Pictured their completion.
We left them to await their fiery finish.

Our dinner was a fishy feast.
Servers sang and candles on a chilly dish were snuffed.
Our birthday girl was entertained and satisfied.

At home, she scootered, colored, shampooed and showered.
Still slightly damp she ascended her bed
To end her day with many heartfelt kisses.

by Beatrice Dahlen

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