At her behest the room silenced.
Save for a shuffle, a smile.
Rough floor beneath small hands and thin legs,
As dinner plate eyes
Look upon her words as gifts.
Cross legged and heads bend,
They listen.
Still only young, they behold
The world as hers to gift
To them.
In playful packets of this and that,
Bright coloured thoughts and laughter,
Mark her door,
And all who enter,
Leave with a song on their lips.