Nightmares at three, or bad husbands at thirty;
These will not trouble her eyes.
Worlds can be worrisome, people complex;
Motives and manners unclear.
Grant her the wisdom to choose her path right,
Free from unkindness and fear.
Let her tell stories, and dance in the rain,
Somersault, tumble, and run;
Her joys must be high as her sorrows are deep,
Let her grow like the weed in the sun.
Help her to help herself, help her to stand,
Help her to lose, and to find.
Teach her we're only as big as our dreams,
tell her that fortune is blind.
Truth is a thing she must find for herself,
precious, and rare as a pearl;
Give her all these, and a little bit more...
- prayer for a blueberry girl (neil gaiman)