Some poetry. Some prose. All heart.

Friday, November 13, 2020

The Prize



My daughter cartwheels under the sunset sky,
Each flip squeezes my newborn heart.
I wonder, as she learns to fly,
Will I adequately supply
The foundation to give her a running start?

My daughter's smile is like a wild rose,
Captivating anyone with honest eyes.
I wonder, as she endlessly grows,
The mother that she currently knows,
Will she become, as much, her prize?

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Found this piece perusing old emails from my last corporate job.
Written back in 2005.

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