Flower

A little blonde flower,

Born on a snowy thanksgiving night.

The first of many to come.

A promise made to always stand by her side.

To protect her from harm.

My sweet little flower.

So sad and alone

On and on she grows.

Father Time is my enemy; he refuses to slow.

The little flower blossoms into a stunning and complex young woman.

No longer the babe that I first held in my arms.

Now she is beautiful and strong.

I grasp the fleeting moments as they pass.

Trying to hold onto them while they last.

Soon my little flower will leave the garden,

In search of bigger and brighter pastures.

Once she was so tiny, so fragile.

Now she is almost grown.

I hold her close while I can.

I try not to blink; I never want to miss a second.

“Slow down little flower” I say.

“Don’t move so fast.

In years to come you’ll wish this time had last.”

She smiles her bright smile and laughs.

“Don’t you understand?”

She speaks

“I want to touch the sky.”

I sigh and say,

“All in good time little flower.”

She is unique, her own work of art.

Full of both the light and the dark.

Her colors are brilliant, and as vast as her heart.

Such an amazing woman that she has become.

I couldn’t imagine how incredible

She would become when they first laid her in my arms.

My perfect little flower.