Someday, When Winter Comes

Our gentle child's all grown,
She's sensitive to the touch,
Like a flower on chilly dawn,
Trembling under the ice,
Shielding self from cold,
From intrusive reverence,
Being invertedly bold
Leading her life's advance.
She blooms, she grows tall,
She chose her own ways,
I hope she also plays
And finds big love and all.
My weakening resolve,
His not-so-rampant zeal—
We fade to a lesser role
Behind my daughter's will.
Someday, when winter comes,
Past fleeting–fast decade,
I wish to see her home
Where parents she can trace.
Where she can softly talk
Of photography and art,
Of music, family,
And of her children's start.
There are never softer eyes
Which love and scrutinize
Than those of Dad and Mom
At life's most fragile slice.


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