“What are you writing little one?”
“Secret.”
Her eyes bright and a familiar glint,
steady delight and a flash of mischief.
His smile split a sun in a far solar system.
“Secrets, indeed.”
Flipping a page in the little purple notebook
her obedient pencil fills fresh paper with gangly letters
sprawling and alive with a new lamb’s steady uncertainty.
He drew his own instrument and began:
“Secrets they are, dear one. And I will reveal them to your precious heart, every one.”
Words written and mailed to years forward,
folded with care into the mind of a future playmate.