|
What will be life like,
When you grow five feet five?
There will be no tears,
There will be no fears
as you grow past the naughty years.
You will leave behind
your hefty school bag and the ball;
as you grow tall and forget your Barbie doll.
You will not hold my fingers anymore;
As I would fondly remember the days of yore.
There will be no more climbing the tree
As I would remember with all the glee.
I will miss your cries for icre-cream
As it will soon become a distant dream.
A day will come when you will be a bride;
Leaving us all behind with our tears dried.
But you will be always in our heart and mind;
As we prepare dishes of your kind.
My ears will long to listen your laughter;
As you will have a new home, my daughter.
A day will come when we meet to discuss and groan
the running nose of your little one.
The above poem was written originally in 1990.
|
