Daughter Of A Pretty Age Poem by Uriah Hamilton
Daughter Of A Pretty Age
As the night twists
Unhappily like a knife
Into a vital organ,
All I can do is ask
Where is my daughter
Of a pretty age?
I’m cloaked in despair
And filled with rage.
I wish I could
Hold her hand
And talk in a secret place,
But I remember,
I’m childless
And finishing my course
In infinite loneliness.
As usual, you speak the language of sadness with eloquence. You deserve a daughter of a pretty age. Take care. Warm regards, Sandra
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4/25/2024 6:41:22 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I do wish that you will find your daoughter of a pretty age. I wish happiness for you What a voulnerable and beautiful poem from you...So sad