In my dream
she is a baby still,
cradled in my arms,
sheltered from any harm
that might come her way.
As I hold her,
she looks up at me,
and I can see
she feels the depth of my love—
never wavering,
ever constant.
But in reality,
she is twenty now
and has left me behind
to find a life,
a purpose of her own.
And I am left to dream,
as mothers do,
of a time when I was her world
and she was mine.