As I pack up her clothes for the passing of another season,
In a flurry to clean up the mess of another day,
I pause for another moment
Thinking of all the hours she spent in those silly dresses,
How much she loved wearing them while I cringed
At her lack of style.
But next season they'll be too small
And will stay in the attic for another time,
For another little girl.
And I'll remember this very minute
Because one thing I know,
The minutes that seem to pass so slowly
Will quickly turn into years
Making me miss the simplicity of my 3-year old's tutus.