My little girl sleeps, as I did,
when I was a little girl.
Her tiny hands balled into her chest,
with the side of her face
on her little mattress.
Her precious knees pulled into her fists
and her 'tail' in the air.
So unaware of the dangers around her.
Not knowing “hot” until she’s burnt.
Her best friend a playful kitten
with golden splotches and stripes,
pawing at her little feet in the family room.
Or even the gray hippo
with a pink belly,
soft and comfy in her arms.
Thinking all God’s creations, the tomato patch,
mommy, daddy, and the man down the street
are good and safe.
Not knowing where Satan lays.
I remember when I slept like my little girl.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem