Saturday 20 July 2013

Bliss (a poem)

Oh how I must paint
the image of perfection before me

I watch the sweet slumber,
the whisper of her breathing,
the scent of soft skin and dreams

She stirs ever so slightly 
and I hold my breath 
so as not to disturb her

Time stands still

Oh how I could watch
the tiny angel that is

my daughter
forever.

No comments:

Post a Comment