For AA – If Wishes Were Horses

At eight, I guess flying horses
Are what little girls desire.
It isn’t so much the strength of the beast
As the wings of drifted snow
The mane afire. They are things
Of feather light and sunset glow,
Pony tails bright tied, with ribbons
The colour of russet horse hide,
Little girls are. And mine has spent
The afternoon on youtube, bent
Over paper, creasing delicate folds;
As if the careful act of origami holds
The rush of wind in her straining face
The crafting of belief, the power of grace.

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