Daughter

http://www.sleepingatlast.com/blog/daughter-how-it-was-made

Daughter,

Is the title I give you, implying mine is father.

I need you to know that I write so that words have time to catch up with what my heart already knows.

My little piece of shalom

I compare you to squeaky desk in a room full of students.

You’re all I hear,

and you aren’t even here.

Yet you dance over my broken trains of thought and tip toe into my conscious mind.

Expecting you has made my love blind


Signed a father to be