She is someone

I would gladly, laughingly, joyously
die for
(if I had to),
all 25 pounds,
two feet tall,
17 months old of her.
She grows more beautiful to me
every day, even though
I was convinced yesterday
that it wasn't possible.
She thinks everybody is nice.
She smiles at everyone,
and will walk up to someone she
doesn't know
and offer up
the impressive gift
of one of her cookies.
I watch her gleeful, uninhibited
play, and later feel her baby head resting
on my chest as she heads into
a dream land populated by teddy bears
and pacifiers, and I want her to
stay this way always,
even though I know she won't
and she shouldn't.
I don't want her to know what I know
about what really lies outside of
her door.
I don't want her to feel the
disappointments, the betrayals,
the jarring collisions with dark realities.
Not yet...not yet.
Let her world be our house and yard
for a while.
Let every day be filled with people
being sweet to her every minute,
and let her live in her all-too-tenuous
innocence for a few more years.
Some day, let her shoulders grow with
her burdens,
and let the gifts of the outside world
compensate her for all she will
have to give up to earn them.
But right now, let her rest
in my aging arms,
and let me hold on to her
for just a while
before she starts the journey
away from me.