My Father's Little Girl Poem by elysabeth faslund

Morning came long before the dew, the frost....
And morning came long before my Father...
He would never have allowed the frost to
Touch me...not my Father's mornings...

Can I ever go back to his warm mornings
By the ceramic, floor heaters...if I could...
Yes, my Father, I would wrap you in my
Blankets, not let the cold in, not trouble

Your knees, legs...heart. Never.
But once, and only once, I saw my Father
Tremble, shiver...I was seven, and I had
No sight of it ever again...his anger.

His little girl had pneumonia...no one knew...
He did. Wrapped me in a blanket...
Needles...I.V.'s...oxygen tent...way back
When...

You see, my Father is a hero...not for the
Simplicity of understanding...but, by far...
His love of his little girl...his magnificent
Heart...

This Yellow Rose is
For his heart.