Footsteps

The footsteps are soft,
Uneven on the floorboards,
A young girl’s laugh,
Dances through the house.

The footsteps grow louder,
She’s coming close.
Suddenly it’s quiet,
The little girl has stopped.

Eyes peek out to watch her,
She’s bending over now,
Polishing her new shoes,
The buckle shows a shine.

The door creaks open,
Navy-black shoes appear.
White flowers decorate the front,
Blossoming like daisies in a meadow.

I see her now,
The girl I used to be,
Appearing as a memory,
As the footsteps stop in front of me.