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,
Still only young, they behold
The world as hers to gift
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.