Real or a Dream?

I’m going to preface this poem by saying that, the little girl in this rhyme, is completely a figment of my imagination. I have never met her in reality. She wasn’t part of a dream either – unless you consider it an day dream. I have imagined her several times (though with differing colors of hair and eyes and differing ages) for various things. Much of the point of this poem was to ward off boredom and too try my hand at a poetic description… What do you all think? Did I do well or ill? Is it overdone or underdone? The meter is a bit off a few times but I couldn’t seem to fix it… I await the opinion of my readers…

One day upon a little street,
I passed a little girl,
Stumbling every few steps she took,
Giving bounce to every curl.
She clung closely to a young man’s hand
Whose hold kept her on her feet –
For surely without his timely aid,
She would have landed on her seat!

Her eyes were like the bluest sea,
Their match I’ve never seen!
They flickered with the sun above
And sparkled in it’s sheen.
They raised up high, towards the man,
Love giving them a glow,
That this was a dear one by her side,
Any stranger could easily know.

Her lashes brushed against her cheeks,
Like feathers in a breeze.
On the same had blossomed roses,
Attended by dimples, instead of bees.
Her nose was small and round,
And slightly pointed to the sky,
Though not in an uncomely fashion –
Nothing to say against it, have I.

Her darling little mouth
With her round, red, puckered lips,
Opened slowly as I passed
And the word “Daddy” gently slips.
The slightest lisp she had
And a sweet and silver tone –
A more lovely voice of two summers
I have scarcely ever known!

She must have looked much like her mother,
For though some resemblance I could trace,
Her father looked quite different –
Especially in the face.
Though I can quite well remember,
She had his same golden brown hair
And when I glanced at his eyes,
I found the same sea blue reposing there.

‘Twas such a dream, this little girl –
A beauty – ah! so rare!
The smile upon her dimpled face,
Seemed not to own a care!
I often remember this dear child
And dwell upon her charms.
I’d love to meet her one nice day
And get to hold her in my arms.

For now, however, I suppose,
Just a dream she must be
Until the day – if indeed it happens –
This little girl, I get to see.
But if that never happens,
And she never comes before my sight,
I’ll consider myself fortunate,
To have passed her on that day so bright.

To the KING be all the glory!