Sitting pretty in her rocking
chair. Mommy’s pearls draped around
her neck. Bright pink lipstick traces a crooked
oval near her mouth.
Its broken pieces placed
carefully on her pink
dresser. She crosses her lacy socked
feet at the ankles, kicks them out
and in to make her chair
rock. A little giggle escapes each time the pearls fly
out from her dress. She’s not yet heard she’s not
pretty enough or too
short, or her clothes are
plain or teeth crooked or she
weighs too much. Nothing yet to chip
away at the giggles. Keep her here in this pink
room, with Mommy’s pearls, sitting
pretty in her rocking
chair, as long as you can.
Talking to the Clouds 
It is the lessons learned, teach them to another, that there pain is less . . . and yours too for the inspiration given. Pain is overcome . . . it is the seed of joy in the morrow.
Cheers!
Forgive my misspelling (there for their) but would be better yet, ” . . . that her pain is less.”
The keys often wax defiant.