Late night and the glimpse of candlelight,

Who among the pretty dolls of the family of eight, is still up and awake?

I saw the shadow of a girl with curly hair, from my room across hers.

I wonder what magic she's under, as she seems to enjoy the deafening thunder.

Across the valley where the sun rises,

I learned to look forward as the sun sets.

For this lovely lady will again write through her heart,

Draw using her soul, and paint with her smile.

Early morning of Sunday,

The birds singing with the wind hushing.

The giggles of the dolls outside their house,

Wearing pretty Lolita dress, with ribbons bigger than bows.

They resemble one another, I wonder if they confuse their mother.

They all have elegance and beauty,

But I am sure the girl enjoying her tea,

Is the same magical being, in front of her own fantasy.

Late night and no glimpse of candlelight,

Are you asleep already?

No deep thoughts and magical adventure?

Thoughts that go beyond no one can measure.