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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #1244814
My daughter, my angel.
Sometimes she has her mom's attitude,
sometimes mine.
I never know which is worse really.

She turned nine the other day.
I wanted to be with her,
but I was 1700 miles away.

I called to tell her I love her,
and wanted to be there.
I admit I cried salty bitter tears,
wishing to hold my little baby in my arms.

Sometimes she is an infant to me.
sometimes far too grown
for childish and little girl things.

Sometimes she has her mom's attitude,
sometimes mine.
The combo she has become
makes me realize;
sometimes she's nearly an angel.

No matter what,
I will always thank God
for this daughter of mine.
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