A Cage To Hold My Dreams
Deborah Jane
My little daughter, sweetest rose,
my love for you just grows and grows,
you cut her finger, my blood flows
in scarlet hues
you knock your shin, its me who shows
the angry bruise.
I watch this cyclone born to me,
so soft and smooth, so fancy-free,
playing peek-a-boo around my knee,
this priceless pearl
and try to visualise when she
is a grown-up girl
I see her, head high in the air,
poised, attractive, auburn hair,
radiant, with the casual air
of country miles.
The world, I know, will pause and stare
when Deborah smiles
I wish for her a voice that speaks
with honest fire, a soul which seeks
and fights and learns, not turns her cheeks
from danger's threat
But forward, onto rugged peaks
her course be set
May she inherit a liberal mind,
not sanctimonious, nor too refined,
too smooth for life, not drifting blind
without a compass,
but steady, proud to speak her mind
and face a rumpus.
I pray her small, determined chin
keeps propping up that impish grin,
her fierce, indomitable will to win
must not diminish,
and any fight she might begin
she'll stay to finish.
I see her mother's eyes of blue,
her stick-on nose, I see that too,
that haughty look has tossed a few
back in their place
I see her mother, born anew,
in Deborah's face.
May she be spared her father's looks
but feel, like him, for words and books
May being creative form the crux
of her existence,
undo the shoes, peel off the socks
and run the distance
She'll hear it said, that I've no heart,
that of my brain the warmest part
is icy cold, I'm glib and smart
and superficial,
the 'T' refers to trite and tart
In my initial
Don't judge me, child, by rules of men
who never held a writer's pen
I shall not pass this way again
to sow more seeds,
my mind is not a woodland fen
constrained by weeds
So as I watch you, learning, growing,
from child to woman, slowly going
along your chosen path, and blowing
a kiss or two,
I'll catch them all and love them, knowing
they came from you.
my love for you just grows and grows,
you cut her finger, my blood flows
in scarlet hues
you knock your shin, its me who shows
the angry bruise.
I watch this cyclone born to me,
so soft and smooth, so fancy-free,
playing peek-a-boo around my knee,
this priceless pearl
and try to visualise when she
is a grown-up girl
I see her, head high in the air,
poised, attractive, auburn hair,
radiant, with the casual air
of country miles.
The world, I know, will pause and stare
when Deborah smiles
I wish for her a voice that speaks
with honest fire, a soul which seeks
and fights and learns, not turns her cheeks
from danger's threat
But forward, onto rugged peaks
her course be set
May she inherit a liberal mind,
not sanctimonious, nor too refined,
too smooth for life, not drifting blind
without a compass,
but steady, proud to speak her mind
and face a rumpus.
I pray her small, determined chin
keeps propping up that impish grin,
her fierce, indomitable will to win
must not diminish,
and any fight she might begin
she'll stay to finish.
I see her mother's eyes of blue,
her stick-on nose, I see that too,
that haughty look has tossed a few
back in their place
I see her mother, born anew,
in Deborah's face.
May she be spared her father's looks
but feel, like him, for words and books
May being creative form the crux
of her existence,
undo the shoes, peel off the socks
and run the distance
She'll hear it said, that I've no heart,
that of my brain the warmest part
is icy cold, I'm glib and smart
and superficial,
the 'T' refers to trite and tart
In my initial
Don't judge me, child, by rules of men
who never held a writer's pen
I shall not pass this way again
to sow more seeds,
my mind is not a woodland fen
constrained by weeds
So as I watch you, learning, growing,
from child to woman, slowly going
along your chosen path, and blowing
a kiss or two,
I'll catch them all and love them, knowing
they came from you.
