I’m reposting this in honor of all the mothers who poured (and are pouring) out the fairy dust that color childhood memories.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Who is your Peter Pan?
Now that I’m grown, I have been banished
or perhaps my way in just vanished
to a land of dreams, a kingdom of play
where freedom ever rules the day.
When I was young I too played there
with hardly a worry and never a care.
Don’t mind me while I pen your Neverland,
but dare I ask, who is your Peter Pan?
Play on my little lost boy,
flutter free my tiny Tink
never asking how your fairytale
received its magical ink.
The mermaid’s hair is braided with a practiced hand,
and aborigines need sheets, teepees for their band.
That war paint and your buried treasure
look awfully familiar….
May I ask who it was that filled your bubbly lagoon,
and outfitted the pirates beneath the many moons?
Don’t mind me listening as you promise faith and trust.
I’m just here pouring out a bit more pixie dust.
Play on my little lost boy,
flutter free my tiny Tink
never asking how your fairytale
received its magical ink.
When you were hurt in battle
was there not a quick kiss and a cuddle?
Did you not find sanctuary from Hook in the tower of a lap,
and is that not a list on the other side of your treasure map?
How did that pillow catch you after your daring flight,
and who was it that held you after the tic-tock croc did bite?
Don’t mind me spreading jam to the sound of busy feet,
for I well know, even Neverlanders need to eat.
Play on my little lost boy,
flutter free my tiny Tink
never asking how your fairytale
received its magical ink.
By: E.A. Henson
E.A. Henson Books 