Amy sits upon a lily-pad, tiny and sun soaked is she.
Warm is Amelia, her yellow summer skirts all around her.
I am so small. When will I grow to be tall as the trees, magnificent in their pink-diamond glow?
While she waits, ginger hair splayed out on her ever-lovely green cushion, Amelia thinks about the silver leaves she so longs to touch.
She opens her eyes.
There, playing in the breeze, only just out of her reach.
"One day," she says to herself in a little voice, "I will climb the branches of the mighty silver trees until I am level with the horizon."
Today is as good a day as any.
Petite Amy's daisy feet tiptoe across the hopscotch patchwork of her lily pond, hopping and twirling until she reaches the shore.
"I am conquerer of the mighty green labryinth," She says to the potato bug and to the butterfly,"from this day forward, all shall fear me as their mighty queen!"
When she receives an answer only from the gusting wind, Amy leaves her watery throne to pursue a greater glory.
Marching steadily now, the huntress strides on assured feet toward the towering oak.
My castle walls to scale.
When she begins to climb, there is a waiting rope of ivy to help her on her way. Tiny feet hooked into the mountain, she turns her large, determined eyes to the sky.
Amelia toils along her palace walls until she reaches the very tippy-top, pink lighted trees fading to moonlight purple.
When at last she climbs into the barren tower-room, Amy sees a light cascade of ball gowns and a lily-carpet of tiled floor. High, vaulted ceilings are the crumbling, old stone, and exquisite are the ivory-moss pillars upon which the lavender light sky is dancing.
When the princess turns her face to the gold-gilded window, she forgets just how she came to be.
Never before has Amelia Pond seen the wonders of the universe from such a lovely perch.
"Amelia Pond!" She heard in her mind's very ear, "That must be my name. Such a pretty title must have been given by the moon herself." And that is when she remembers.
I am Amelia Pond.
I am the girl who waits no more.
It was then that Amelia reached out the open window to pluck her very own star from the silvery mosaic night.
I think that I shall call it "home."