My innocent daughter

She was born in the early hours of morn
She declared her existence with a little cry
She had her eyes closed and hands clinched
She was born in the early hours of morn
She still calls me in the early hours now grown
She tells me about her school, about her room
She tells me about her friends, about her mum
She tells me and I listen in silent awe
She is my daughter
She is innocent and yet
She is the only one to suffer the consequences
She is the beautiful result of irresponsible adults
How life could be so unfair to the innocents!

March 25, 2017

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About alaindesade

Novelist, songwriter and philosopher. Has special interest in human relations, evolution of mind, inter-cultural complications, and the concept of God.
This entry was posted in Adulthood, Parents, Philosophy of Love, poem, poetry, psychology, reflections, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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