Eleven years now behind her,
And countless others in store
She dreamt of a life to come,
Where endeavors would soar

Her friends had dreams too,
They just weren’t as immense
Rather ordinary they were,
Falling short of suspense 

She had a passion for reading,
And in each book that she read,
Were stories so extraordinary,
They’d immerse her young head

Dreams destined the mundane,
For they wouldn’t happen here
Her innocent mind brimming,
It was as if nothing she feared

As each year would pass by,
And the older she grew,
Much like the fantasies she read,
The further she flew

(Written for the painting titled ‘Dreaming About A Life To Come’)