MY DAUGHTERS
Three fairies while asleep, while awake,
Three restless souls. These my daughters are.
And when engrossed in writing, for my sake,
They hold their restless questionings. And bar
Their hushed breathing, every sound is stilled,
But when I lift my head or leave my pen,
The muted silence is so quickly killed,
That cacophony breaks out there and then.
They query, what I wrote, what about,
And ask the meanings of the words,
These fair extensions of my soul, no doubt,
Are like the fluttering, singing, chirping birds.
I answer them and wonder, that one day,
They would, their youth attain, and go away.
