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I really didn't know where to put this - in childrens, or poetry. It is a little short story in poem, that I made up with my daughter Richelle tonight.
This evening, I saw Richelle fly up high towards the moon;
Her hands were firmly grasped onto the string of a balloon.
Before I could get her she was up over the trees,
So I ran into the house and got my telescope to see.
There she was with her balloon, floating across the sky,
She waved at astonished on-lookers as she quickly flew by.
Rising higher and higher on the night’s swift air flow,
I started to worry about where she might go.
But she went up too high, and the balloon exploded, with a pop.
Richelle was still hold on, but she started to drop.
My heart pounded soo hard; I wondered how this could be,
I yelled as loud as I could, “Someone please come help me!”
Right then, a golden cloud came, and burst through the skies,
But it really wasn’t a cloud, it was a million butterflies.
They surrounded Richelle and then grabbed onto her clothes,
She slowly stopped falling and instead she rose.
She flew over the moon, and across the seven seas,
And when her evening was done, she flew back to me.
The butterflies brought Richelle down out of the blue
And I squeezed her soo tight and kissed her face too.
As I carried her to her room, I sang a sleepy song,
I looked back to the butterflies, but they were now long gone.
Richelle was asleep so I tucked her tightly in bed,
Gave her a hug and then kissed her forehead.
I looked out the window and thought about tonight,
“Next time, no balloons, I’ll get her a kite.”
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