Old blue book of time
Opens right before me
Young blue eyes of mine
Stare back with wonder.

Sitting there on momma's lap
She's an angel of perfection
So I thought this time I'd challange her
To a little conversation:

"Your sweet youth has been corrupted, the little white dress
stained",

She pushed back a blond curl,
Red boots off the tricycle, explained:

"It's all the choices you, i've, made - hair darkened, eyes
weak; you might not identify- I'm still there, in you, same
blue eye".