“A street is no place to play”
you would say as you clasped her
hand, gentle in its unsurety.
Held in the purity of her heart,
she sees you as a leader.

“Look both ways” you would say,
“to be sure that it’s okay”
And she stand toes-to-curb erect,
able to detect the proper moment
that she will follow her leader.

“Hold my hand” you assure her,
your tender flower with the enthusiasm
of a sponge; waiting to sop up all
that you pour before her. She looks up
and smiles. “You lead, Daddy.”

Lessons learned at her father’s hand,
the kind of man she wishes to grace her life,
when she is ready to become a wife.
Standing at the end of this magnificent aisle,
she’ll take your hand. Walking together once again.

All in the name of her father’s hand.



One thought on “FATHER’S HAND

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