Little Girl Wants To Play
It’s getting windy..
Like a storm coming.
The burnt leaves start to rustle..
Gathering for the final hustle.
Dirt sprinkles through the air..
Thunder effects flickering on this affair.
Her swing travels high..
Ignoring the flock of birds as they cry.
Tiny drops touching her cheeks..
How will I go?
Her toes goes slow as she speaks.
Finding a pair of eyes..
Running at one breath she flies.
On his arms as she lies.
Let’s go it’s late..
Dusk is turning a darker shade.
But before we fade..
Sit here by my side..
While I scrape you some mud and clay.
As papa’s little girl still wants to play..
And now this storm will not dare to go the wrong way.