A Gift for my Daughter

A Gift for my Daughter

One morning, I walked out
To where the dew collected in the bushes.
I wished to pick diamonds from among the roses
To give to my daughter for her wedding.

But the roses were selfish
And fought back at me with thorns.
And my hand was cut and bleeding—
I walked away with lowered head.

Oh, I walked on for what seemed like hours;
Time moves slowly for a shamed heart.
And I walked into a field of flowers
Cast on the ground by the shining sun.

And this is how fate would have it!
I collected the golden flowers in my arms.
I would braid them in my daughter’s hair—
A gleaming halo for my sweet angel’s head.

Eagerly I carried the flowers of the sun,
Back to my home on the dusty road.
But my daughter could not see my gift to her,
She was blinded by a light of her own.

-Marc