Wednesday, August 27, 2014

My Daughter

She is proud as wild things are,
Quick, and much more fearless;
Curb and bridle, let her be,
Days, leave her tearless.

I would keep her whimsical,
Life a jest to her;
Let her laugh; she has but seen
Her fifteenth summer.

Let her feel the world is hers
Peaks and wild wings waiting.
Sorrow, let no shadow fall,
Wisdom, cease your prating.


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