My Youngest Daughter Poem by chris schwartz

Within the dove
That no one sees
Lies the beauty of a daughter
Wanting nothing less
Than to grow into
The woman
I knew she would become.
Oh, my youngest daughter!
You have yet to see
The blossoms of your strength
You have yet to reap
The sap
That only a strong tree
Can give you.
Vines weep in sadness.
The branches not fed
With love
Wilt, and thirst for water.
But you have grown tall
For a reason
And you have stood tall
Though Treason
Has snapped your precious
Young buds
And created sharp thorns.
You stand tall
In beauty, in eloquence,
Undetected and unveiled
By most.
You shy away in grace,
Waiting, for that perfect pose.
But, oh my dear daughter,
That which refuses to cover
The landscape
With the same sad picture
Only creates a beauty
All of its own
On an undiscovered canvas.
On which it perfectly shines.