The Pink Jumper Her fingers smooth the tiny pink jumper into a   neat fold. Memories of her tiny daughter drift through her head. A little bouncing, blonde-haired, Blue eyed, beautiful baby. Her first little girl. A little girl whose hair she Would be able to tie with ribbons And whose body She could dress in pink to match. With tiny hands that fit perfectly in her Own, identical to hers, only smaller. With a smile that brushed Away all of the days worries . . . She shook the wrinkles from her daughter’s favorite pair of blue jeans And neatly folded them just as she had the jumper many years ago. Her baby girl was no longer the girl she once held. A girl with blonde hair And dreams within her reach. A young adult who combs her own hair, Chooses her own clothes, And applies make-up as she wishes. With hands now identical to her Mother’s; Same size, same fingernails, Just fewer lines. With a smile that comes and goes With the struggles of life. No longer a tiny baby girl, But an aspiring young woman.