Her Fathers Daughter
By silver
As the darkness of the evening sun fades, The remainig light clings, Like dust, To the mahogany desk in Daddy's study. Little girl swings, But then sits, With her legs curled up under her. She sits with the books, Waiting to be opened and read. A few words on musty pages, Almost tentively she moves her fingers. Even the light, As dim as it is, Next to the mahogany desk, In Daddy's room, Cannot hide her fear, Of something that she has yet to name, Though it grows like the flowers. How odd, No matter how many times she kills it, It keeps coming back, Like a weed. Written February 9th, 2002 © on Feb 08 2002 04:03 PM PST 0 • 10
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"As the darkness of the evening sun fades,..."