A Poem to my Daughter

I don’t write about you.
I wrote an entire book about you
But I don’t write you.
Not this way
Not lately
Not in way too long.

You have your mother’s eyes.
And the other one is a perfect
Picture of her grandmother

The celtic is strong in that one
But you got the french in us
You really did

You have the attitude
And that sharpness to you
It’s how I can’t hide a damn thing
And you see right through me
Makes if hard to be a dad
Little white lies makes it easier
To govern)

But you don’t let me get away with these
Not anymore
I need to up my game
And explain to you
The harder thruths of life
And share my love
In better ways
In more hugs
And simpler words
I need to learn
To enjoy the tickle fights
That still make you laugh
Before you become a full teenager

You are asleep now

And the house is silent

I heard your book drop to the floor

As your still tiny hands

Let go of it while you faded into sleep.

And I smiled.


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