My daughter

Not often one gets a chance

To produce a beautiful piece of art

To reproduce a bud

From old roots and watch it blossom

Into an exquisite flower

Which attracts and bewilders

And whose perfume and aura

Touches one and all

This work of art, this bud

This flower of mine

Not solely but shared

And I will allow sharing

Not with everyone

Not just anyone, no - just with one

With my wife, her mum

As she is my daughter

Precious, is not the word?

But infinitely so

Proud, is too little

To describe how I feel

Pleased - very

At the way she has turned out

None to compare

For she is my daughter.

By Jack McCann, the plastic surgeon, and eminent leader of a surgical team to Albania, from his new collection of poetry: Turning On a Sixpence.


Page generated in 0.2392 seconds.