what if your spirit was a glass of sparkling cider and moon beams came out of your fingers and toes and what if you were never cliche, never stale always fresh as a daisy or daffodil if only my heart was made out strawberries not oranges and if only childhood was a blueberry and adulthood wasn't plain blue. have you ever heard that one song, about Julia, because I wish that I had a windy smile.