Thursday, July 13, 2017


I looked in on my daughter as she lay
Asleep in bed, the sheets in disarray,
And she, lying sideways, all exposed,
As if a doll some collector posed
To show a sudden stop amid some time
Whose focal point denies all acts of rhyme--
Except she breathed n slow, deep rhythm. I,
Too, breathed deeply in content and drew not high
For fear of stirring her to wakefulness
And disturbing her growing progress--
And since I look for her to grow up strong
And brave and wise and true, and those take long
To burgeon in a person now quite small,
I let her be and walked back down the hall.

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