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?


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

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