I grew up the day my Papa died
The day I held his hand one last time
I grew up the day I kissed him goodbye
My last kiss on his learned brow

I grew up the day I knew
I may never sit on the throne of his lap
That was the throne where I sat and believed
I was his little Princess

Gone are the fairy tales and wings
But they will be kept
In the treasure chest of my heart
Still, I heard my Papa whisper: