I was going to marry him you know,
that beautiful boy
who seemed a man to meó
my eight year old heart
was sure of this.
My secret pleasure each night;
to kiss his poster in fierce adoration,
only the young can feel.
I hadnít thought of him in years.
Now, the soft bite; a sad
but sweet nostalgia, stings my eyes.
Goodnight Sleepy Jean...sweet dreams.