Bittersweet thoughts of how gaining an adult is losing a child.
Childish laughter echoes in the night,
It fills the morning with its music bright,
Paints a thousand hues in crystal light.
For a time we two walked hand in hand,
Two sets of prints in the mirror sand,
Tides swept them smooth, empty now the strand.
Memories cascade in golden streams,
Dance like dust motes in the sun’s bright beams,
Happiness is never what it seems.