Planting poppies under the waxing moon,
I read my wish list to the stars,
hoping God stayed up late to hear from his favourite girl.
I’m just a dreamer,
longing for long, late night phone calls,
where I feel the Earth stop,
then watch the sun rise,
in a blink of my hastily made up eyes.
I’m just an angel on the ground,
regaining her power,
but unsure if that will be enough,
to find and fix the shards of her sunshine soul.
I want to sleep in the dirt,
while my garden grows around me,
watching each wish, ticked off the list,
as the moon expands and disappears,
and then expands and disappears.
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