Last week she was only seven
Now my cutest girl is eight.
I know she was sent from heaven
A gift from God a treasure great.

Next year, I know she'll be nine
And she can hardly wait till then.
At any age, she'll still be mine
Yet, I wish she was four again.

I wish she could still be four
Or maybe even still be three.
Playing sweetly on the floor
Or cuddling upon my knee.

Soon she'll be too old to hold her.
Yes, I know young age can't last,
I know she must mature, get older.
But does it have to be so fast?

I'll love her more with each December,
Eight, sixteen, or fifty-nine
But, still I always will remember,
That three through seven were divine.