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
