The imagination of a child\'s mind.
The sun dips low, a golden stain,
Against the nursery window pane,
And while the house is hushed and deep,
The toys awaken from their sleep.
The porcelain girl with painted gaze
Steps softly from the velvet haze;
Her stiffened joints, once bound by wire,
Now dance before the phantom fire.
The teddy bear, with button eyes,
Unfolds his trust in mild surprise,
To find his stitched and cotton paws
Obeying no physics, no gravity’s laws.
They whisper secrets, sharp and sweet,
With tip-toe clicks of plastic feet,
Holding a banquet of make-believe
On plates that only dreams conceive.
The soldier drops his rusted blade
To join the tea-time masquerade,
As shadows stretch and spirits bloom
In the silent theater of the room.
The child lies still, a heavy breath,
Unaware of this rhythmic stealth—
How ribbons drift and buttons blink,
And wooden dolls begin to think.
They curate worlds of star and stone
In a kingdom they call all their own,
Until the morning’s gray-blue light
Turns magic back to mere delight.
And if you find them, slightly turned,
Or see a candle faintly burned,
Or notice that the velvet bear
Is sitting in a different chair—
Do not wonder, do not pry,
At the glint within a glass-bead eye;
For when the world is tucked in bed,
The child lives on in all they’ve said.