She used to watch me through her bedroom window,
As I figured out what this life was,
When I molded little villages from the mud,
As the earth kept giving.
She watched me,
As I crocheted my dreams away,
She thought it would be fancy for me to find my passion through yarn.
She encouraged me as she pat my back and told me it would be okay,
That it was okay to not get it right the first time,
That failure was part of this life,
That I just needed to pick myself up.
Now I watch through my bedroom window,
As a little girl finds her way,
As she creatively figures what sets her heart on fire,
And mine is filled with gratitude.
