A Poem for My Daughter
Brandye Brent
In the Easter of my heart
Lies a child who knows no wrong.
My morning glory,
with golden curls
that play soft around her face
and a smile that shines innocence
between cheeks,
still whispers baby.
In her sweet voice I hear her
serenity and my destiny,
singing with a joy that has
not yet been tainted by our
world.
How will the future jade
her pureness— perhaps
a broken heart, or a mere
human failure.
For now, I embrace my cherub
against my breast to calm her cries
I look into the periwinkle eyes of
my immortality to find the
window of a truth that I had
forgotten.
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