My Dearest Daughter

In this withered imitation I dream

that I’m falling alone,

and you, you’re flying with

wings outstretched.

The feeling is foreign, strange, as

I feel lost in your eyes, my dearest daughter.

But it was I who sewed

those wounded wings with which

you fall, not fly, and I cannot

bring myself to regret.

God have mercy; take my wretched soul

to mend the wings of your dearest daughter.