Twirling in a candyfloss stained finger curl,
my three year old daughter
oohed and ahed at the blue sugar mountain
created from a thread.
Holding the bag gently, as if a child,
she took the taste from her finger
with soft child lips,
smiled, closed her dark eyelashes against her cheeks.
Her father indulged her with a second bag,
pink, like her parasol,
but she left it unopened
placing both in her backpack.
Heaven should not be eaten in one day.
That’s what she said,
and the tears ran down my face
for my daughter was wiser than years.