Years ago, I did a treatment for a children’s book.

I soon realized it wasn’t a book. So set those few lines free to be on their own.

“Beulah’s Window”
The window was a symphony of dreams. It was composed of dozens of shards. Cast off bits of stained glass that Beulah the Forest Woman, Beulah the Witch, Beulah the Angel had assembled into Magic.
As the afternoon sun played across it. Here was illuminated a hand fragment of clouds. There a lily a smile a yellow crescent moon.
Throughout were floating embers of flame bright reds shades of gold fragments of turquoise. In its upper portions were bits of alabaster doves, and a spray of stars.
Such was Beulah’s Window.