Grown past the notches near the door, no more lying tummy down on the floor, coloring. Wondering, dreaming.
rolling over kicking legs at the ceiling. "Young woman now," is what they say, no more time for childish play, and that naive, silly way of thinking.
"Act your age you foolish thing," but her heart still loves to sing when it rains. And the puddles are still so inviting, and she finds it still so delighting to take rain baths.
But shush... don't tell. (childhood still has her under its spell.) She knows she must be grown up now, but can't it all be stalled somehow?
She knows that she must now live the lies, But her innocent heart can not yet comprehend Grey skies.