Daughter

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She is barely a teen sitting curled
Like a lean contented cat
With the softest hair,
The colour of burnt toffee
With waves of buttery streaks

Her delicate face, lost of its baby chub,
Glows like a dull soft lightbulb
Bright yet unassuming
With lips, heart-shaped and pouty
And ready to grin their sassy grin

She is lost in a book, grey eyes staring
Scanning-- with eyebrows that lift and lower
Fingers so long and thin, and thumbs--
Thumbs slender and curving outward
Licking, sticking, turning pages

A look upwards, barely noticing
My presence as I pretend not to stare
But stare so hard my eyes hurt
And match the pain in my heart
For who she was and who she now is

This woman-child, a beauty there sitting
Pages turning, of book and time
She sighs the softest of sighs
Breath escaping and mingling with the air
I breathe and I take it in to me

A smile there, a look that says
To me that she is mine still but for
The moment and yet it says too
That she is herself, her lovely self
Growing, much too fast to stop

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