With small white, graphical pattern,

On a smooth, flowy, dark blue fabric,

Snugly falling over the curves,

With a slim, white belt on the waist,


Reaching just above my knees, my favourite

 Little Blue Dress, that was.

Wearing that, I wrapped myself with liberation,

And against all the reasons, so misplaced.


From those looks that teetered between,

A nod of approval and a visible smirk,

‘Oh! You look like the sister of your son’- Oft a comment passed by,

With compliment and sneer, both interlaced.


‘Thank you!’, I would say, and add with a smile,

‘But I am his mother first and I teach him,

That virtues are not the slaves of a dress,

And tell him, not to judge any with such haste!’


I tell him, it’s about the choices one makes,

To feel emancipated and to set free one’s soul,

For me, it may be the Little Blue Dress,

For some, something else might just be the best!